


we got the world

by Ailuro_euro



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, Friendship, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Moments, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailuro_euro/pseuds/Ailuro_euro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They say that you're a freak when you're having fun, say you must be high when you're spreading love, but we're just living life and we never stop, we've got the world." Beca/Jesse, post-Kennedy Center flop. A series of missing Jeca moments from PP2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (you're a freak) when we're having fun

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! You can call me euro.
> 
> First time venturing into the M category, so be gentle. Otherwise: enjoy!

_They say that you're a freak when you're having fun,_

_Say you must be high when we're spreading love_

_But we're just living life and we never stop_

_We got the world_

The Kennedy Center resonates with the Bellas' sound, but Jesse only has eyes for Beca as she moves across the stage.

He grins when they switch seamlessly from Icona Pop to Ke$ha, the fast-paced rhythm of the song kicking up applause from the audience. As much fun as it is to listen to Beca sing, he loves listening to the Bellas harmonize, and it's even better because Beca never releases the entire set list before the competition, keeping him on his toes. He claps politely from his seat six rows back, reserving applause for the finale.

They're killing it, and his chest swells with pride as he watches Beca dance in perfect sync with the other Bellas. It doesn't matter how many times she's claimed to dislike them; he can see how much she enjoys being with them on stage. The energy radiating from her is palpable, her perfect comfort being front and center visible from every seat. He's especially aware of it as he watches his girlfriend rock out to the hottest mash-up in town.

_This should be on the radio._

A tiny smile crosses his lips as he imagines Luke's face when he hears their performance. He may even be listening to it live.  _Becky-the-intern_ still works at the shop on weekends alongside Jesse, but Beca – captain of the Barden University Bellas and three time national a cappella champion – dedicates every ounce of herself to the stage.

His cheering increases exponentially as the music builds, anticipation racing under his skin as they approach the finale. He's well outside polite clapping range and openly whistling when the songs swell to a crescendo, Fat Amy descending from the ceiling in a silk sheet as she belts out the chorus to  _Wrecking Ball,_ the Bellas matching pitch below her.

_You did it, Bec,_ Jesse congratulates as the applause swells to a thunder, almost drowning out the Bellas.  _You did—_

The rip is loud enough that for one comical moment Jesse wonders if it isn't just feedback from a lousy mic. Then he sees – and hastily  _un_ -sees – Fat Amy's situation above, his heart sinking rapidly as horrified muttering erupts across the audience.

_Shit,_ he thinks, wanting to jump out of his seat and help, especially when he catches a glimpse of Beca's horrified look as Fat Amy spins slowly and the audience screams, cameras flashing and commentators shouting into their mics.

_This can't be happening._

Just before the curtains finally fall, Beca vanishes off stage, Chloe chasing after her as Jesse gets up and makes a bee-line for the stage.

Thankfully, most of the cameras have turned their attention on the president, providing ample distraction. Slipping unnoticed past the curtains, Jesse watches the girls set up Fat Amy with a ladder before he catches sight of Beca pacing a hole into the floor several yards away, Chloe looking close to tears as she turns to face him.

"Jesse," she says, and Beca's face is ashen when she stops and looks up.

Jesse's heart  _aches_.

"Hey," he says, and then, seeing the devastation on both of their faces, adds, "it's okay."

"Jesse," Beca says. There's a bite to her voice that he recognizes immediately, animal pain at abject failure, and he's across the stage and tugging her into his arms before she can catch a breath to protest. The will to fight drains out of her, visibly deflating. She crumples his shirt in her fists, tucking her face against his shoulder and breathing out raggedly as he hugs her hard and insists that they'll fix it, it'll be okay.

"You were amazing," he whispers, kissing her temple. "Accidents happen."

He half-leads, half-drags her farther backstage, helping her out of her blazer and shoes and into a more comfortable t-shirt and booty shorts.

Amid the professionally dressed Bellas, she stands out like a sore thumb, but her command is unquestioned and easy as she crosses the stage in her bright white socks, the lump in her throat only noticeable when she looks right at him. She brings Fat Amy a fresh set of clothes and only closes her eyes in mild exasperation when she tells her about silk burn, pressing the outfit on her before turning to help Chloe and the rest of the girls dismantle their stage.

In awed silence, Jesse watches her reassemble her team and tell them the game plan. "Whatever happens," she says, "tonight we're going home and regrouping and that's it. Okay?"

They nod, equal parts subdued and dismayed, before following her lead off-stage. Beca shoves her feet back into a part of worn sneakers and tucks an arm around his waist as she passes, taking him with her, neither body guard nor shield but a comforting presence as the cameras flash and follow them the whole way back to the Bellas van.

There aren't any seats to spare so Beca sits in his lap, encouraging him to drape his arms around her belly as Chloe takes the wheel, her defiant posture daring anyone to comment.

She relaxes as the ride goes on, settling until she's light and loose in his hold, sleepy by the time they pull up to the Bella house. They empty out of the van with yawns and sleepy promises to fulfill other obligations – including laundry and unloading the van – in the morning. Jesse, to his credit, shoulders three bags at random and carries them inside, returning six times to unload the car while the girls disperse throughout the house, kicking off shoes and blazers along the way.

By the time Jesse carries in the final load, they've made themselves comfortable in Beca and Fat Amy's room, sprawled across the floor and mini-couch and the two double beds. No one speaks and Jesse feels briefly intrusive until Beca holds out her arms and he enfolds her in his embrace, willing every ounce of reassurance into his hold.

When she pulls back, he lets her, and the girls disperse with murmured good nights, each taking a turn to hug Beca or Chloe – it doesn't seem to matter which, a sentiment Jesse knows reflects their dual leadership – until it's just them left.

Then Chloe hugs them both and shuts the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

"Come here," Beca orders softly, shuffling back until she's comfortable against the headboard.

He crawls between her legs and leans down to kiss her, humming when she tangles her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. The unspoken nature of their relationship has always been one of his favorite things, even if it meant months of side-eyes and glares that could scarcely be interpreted as affectionate. It was worth every minute of uncertainty and heartbreak to arrive  _here_ , listening to the soft noises she makes and savoring every one.

It's unfair, really, how hot she is in attire that could practically be workout clothes, her hair slightly mussed from the ride but her lips soft and smooth against his. Her teeth dig in to his lower lip gently and he moans, hips flush against hers and grinding steadily. She breaks away from their kiss to pant into his ear, tugging at the bottom of his shirt when he offers no resistance.

They shouldn't, but her body is persuasive, arching to meet his and responding so, so beautifully to every touch. He slides a hand under her shirt before dragging the back of it gently across her ribcage, relishing the way she shivers and presses against his jean-clad hips.

God, she's so beautiful.

It's easy to get lost in her skin, mapping every curve and pressing her shirt steadily upwards until she shrugs out of it. She writhes slowly when he presses kisses down her throat, his chest pressed against hers as he finally reaches back and unclips her bra, carefully easing it aside as she encourages him with soft moans.

She's musical in bed and she'd never let him near her if he said it out loud, but he loves how she sings for him, how she gasps and pants and whimpers as he reacquaints himself with her body.

Everything she does is irresistible to him, from the way she bites her lip when he pushes into her, so, so carefully to the way her nails rake lightly down his back. He kisses the tiny crease between her brows and asks what she needs, prompting her to curl her fingers more firmly around his back and hold on, keeping him close as he picks up a slow, steady rhythm.

They're quiet, quiet enough that he thinks that if no one is listening in they won't even hear them, but it doesn't matter to him, nothing matters except Beca and the way she gasps and digs her fingers into his shoulder blades when he manages the right grind.

It's different, like this. It's always different with her, and he loves that, how in control yet relaxed she is, totally confident but equally trusting.

It's a gift, and he knows it and doesn't take it for granted.

Which is why he's careful not to overstay his welcome slow burn to soreness. Her legs must be killing her from rehearsing all day before being on stage, but she doesn't complain at all until he shifts, the tiniest whimper offsetting their balance as he hushes her and glides his fingers up and down her ribcage, easing some of the pain.

Knowing that he'll push it too far if he lingers, he kisses her as he pulls out, a tiny  _oh_ escaping him when she slips a hand down before he can even ask if she wants to stop and jerks him off, the clipped pace at odds with the slow kisses she presses against his mouth, increasingly sloppy as he pants, open-mouthed, against her lips. She knows him too well and he'd be embarrassed (as he was for days after their first time when he came in less than five minutes, practically untouched) if he wasn't so in love with her and how effortless and easy and awesome she makes it, shuddering and spilling onto the sheets with a groan.

_More laundry,_ he thinks without caring, reaching down to get her off, grinning easily as she lets out a soft moan against his mouth.

She's nowhere near quiet as he works her over, careful to keep his pace steady as she pants open-mouthed against his throat, unable to speak. At last, just when Jesse thinks the soreness in his wrist might overcome  _him,_ she gives a single full-body shudder, whimpering and writhing as she rides out her high, shivering compulsively.

When at last she comes down, Jesse kisses her closed eyelids, feeling warmth and contentment radiating from her. They're both sweaty and exhausted, but he still manages to drag the messy sheet out from under her, a lazy smile greeting him as he kisses her before whispering, "I'll be right back."

Eyes still closed, she hums in acknowledgement as he slips out of bed and cleans himself up in the bathroom, returning seconds later and dragging a sheet over them both.

Without a word, she curls up against his chest, groaning softly at the movement before he rubs her back in deep, soothing circles.

"You are so, so amazing," he tells her, because it's true and he doesn't need to qualify it with  _on stage_ or  _when you produce music_.

She smacks her lips a little, her breathing heavy in that halfway asleep realm that he's used to and smiles fondly at, pressing a kiss to her cheek and adding, "I love you."

"Love you, too," she murmurs, breathing evening out in seconds as she rests her cheek against his shoulder, his fingers drawing soft patterns against her shoulders as he dozes off.

It doesn't matter, he decides, eyelids heavy and sleep pressing down on him as the night settles slowly around them, what happens in light of the competition.

Beca is all that matters.


	2. it's going down (i'm yelling timber)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Picks up right where we left off. In which the Bellas are reprimanded and there's more trouble on the horizon.

In the morning, Jesse brings her coffee. 

She’s barely finished yawning and rubbing her eyes before he hands her the mug, her fingers reflexively curling around it as she takes a sip and all but purrs in satisfaction.  It’s worth waking up early and painstakingly crawling out of her grip to watch the tired lines recede from the corners of her eyes.  He loves being able to surprise her, especially when her guard is still down and her emotions so painfully clear on her face.

She’s absolutely beautiful, and he’s furthermore reminded of the fact when she crawls shamelessly out from under the sheets and sidles off to the attached bathroom.  He’s already showered and dressed and shaved, so he tramples downstairs – as Cynthia Rose affectionately describes his subtle way of announcing his presence, in case anyone else is still half or completely naked – and watches the Bellas cook breakfast, sneaking bites of whatever he can until Stacie smacks his ass with a spatula and he retreats, humbled, to the breakfast bar.

“Hey, Hilary Swank,” he greets with a grin when Beca drapes her arms around his shoulders from behind and squeezes lightly.  “Sunny side up or scrambled?”

“No time; Chloe says we have to be at the dean’s office in like, half an hour,” she says with a yawn, reaching over his shoulder and swiping a piece of toast from an undeclared pile on the counter.  “Don’t you have an orientation to prepare for?” she asks, biting delicately into the bread.

“Oh, shit,” Jesse says eloquently, almost overturning his stool as he surges upright and presses a quick kiss against her cheek before bolting for the door.  “Later, nerds!  Text me, Beca!”

He’s gone before he catches her reply, even though the Bellas’ laughter carries cleanly through the door.

* * *

“Dude, where have you been?”

“Doesn’t matter.  Good talk,” Jesse says, joining Benji on stage and clapping him on the shoulder.  “Let’s take it from the top, Trebles!”

* * *

There’s a cheering crowd and Jesse’s feet are light underneath him as he takes the floor, flashing his showiest smile as they tackle  _Lollipop._

It isn’t until he’s out of breath and grinning from ear to ear after  _Come On, Eileen_ that he realizes how weird it is not to have the Bellas take the stage after them with one of their mashups.  Or, better still, an impromptu riff-off, like the one during junior year. 

As they fall backstage, he can’t help but think about how the Treblemakers have matured over time, replacing old members easily and welcoming a few new voices into their mix.  Although the Bellas have never had more than twenty members – and Jesse is pretty sure an entire year of Beca’s life was shaved off as she tried to choreograph and harmonize and generally work with  _that many_ voices – they still like to advertise their availability.

 _No worries,_ Jesse thinks, popping the cap on a water bottle and taking a sip.  They’ll have their chance at auditions.

* * *

He’s humming along to Jason Derulo as he walks across the quad when she snags the back of his shirt, halting him mid-step.  “I got the job.”

“Oh my g—seriously?  At the recording studio?”  When she grins at him without replying, he turns and sweeps her into a bear hug, adding, “Oh my god, Bec, that’s amazing.”

“I start this afternoon,” she adds, a little breathless as they part, and he kisses her, right there on the quad, savoring the way she leans into it.  There was a time when she would have refused to even hold his hand in public; now she seems to be making up for lost time, grabbing the back of his neck and letting him go after a long, heart-stopping moment.

“Wow,” he reiterates, not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be celebrating anymore but grateful for it as his heart races in his chest, lacing taking the initiative and leading them across the quad towards their favorite bakery.  “That’s really great, Beca.  How’d the meeting with the dean go?”

Her expression clouds over and he regrets asking it at once, dread sinking into his stomach as she says, “The Bellas aren’t allowed to compete at the collegiate level and I think Chloe might actually be attempting to drown herself in her tears.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t worry, I left Stacie in charge, she can’t  _actually_ –”

“No, I mean – seriously?  You can’t compete at the collegiate level because of a – technical difficulty?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” she says flatly.  “Have you seen the news?  They’re calling it  _Muffgate._   I’d be flattered by the fact that we’re on like fifteen different stations if it wasn’t because we were the laughingstock of the a cappella world.”

“Hey,” he says softly, tugging on her hand until she looks at him.  “You’re Beca Mitchell.  You’re the most desirable person in the a cappella world.  Do you remember the Whiffenpoofs?”

She sighs and he can’t help but smile because – “Jess.”

“They wanted  _your_ autograph.  And they’re like, big-timers.”  They’d also been drunk off their asses and unable to stop complimenting Beca’s ability to mashup songs on the spot, picking up a tune and holding it as she blended effortlessly and out of the mix, but the point still stood.  They loved her.  And not just because she was insanely gorgeous and a great singer, although both were true.

“You’re going places,” he promises her, “and you have a great new job and that’s totally a reason to celebrate.  And hey,” he adds, waiting until she meets his eyes, “no matter what happens, you can always stack CDs with me at Luke’s music station.”

She rolls her eyes, the smile tugging at the corners of her lips irrepressibly.  “When you put it like that,” she says dryly, tucking her arm around his lazily as they walk.  “Try not to slack off too much without us around.  I don’t want the Trebles to get cocky just because we aren’t around to kick your asses.”

“We’re always cocky,” Jesse assures, waggling his eyebrows until she punches him lightly in the shoulder.  “Hey!”

Dropping his arm, she plays it cool until they find a good seat at the bakery, tucked in a corner where they can watch bypassers without being readily pointed out as the  _a cappella power couple_.  She eats three quarters of his muffin and even drinks most of his orange juice, asking him about the Trebles’ performance and their plans for nationals.

“We’ll take the east coast by storm,” he assures, breaking off a tiny piece of his muffin and nibbling on it.  “At least you guys still have your victory tour to look forward to.”

“Nope.”

He pauses mid-chew, swallowing heavily and replying, “They can’t take that away from you.  It’s not even a competition.”

“They can and they did,” she finishes, swirling his orange juice absentmindedly.  Almost on cue, her phone buzzes on the table and she picks it up, nodding along as he rubs a foot against her calf.  “Just put her on the phone, Jessica,” she says, switching from monosyllabic affirmation to actual words.  Jesse finishes polishing off their plate before holding up an index finger to signal  _one moment_ before she nods and he returns to the counter, picking up another blueberry muffin and letting her pick off the first warm, fresh-from-the-oven crumb off the corner.

Her eyes almost roll back into her head with pleasure as she hums and uh-huhs on the phone.  “So, wait, it’s open to the general public?” she asks, sipping from his orange juice (maybe he should have gotten another one of those, too, but that would require tearing his gaze away from her and he’s sort of incapable of that at the moment).  “Okay, what time?”

At last, she says, “Uh huh.  Bye, Chlo.”

“So, what’s open to the general public?” he asks, stealing a sip from his drink at last as she sets down her phone.

“There’s an auto show this weekend,” she explains, sneaking the drink back to her side of the table the second he sets it down.   _Typical._   “Since the Bellas were disqualified, we’ve been replaced by a German team for our victory tour.”

“And you want to . . . support them?”

“Not quite,” Beca admits.  “We’re not allowed to compete at the collegiate level, but as Chloe so handily pointed out, we qualify for the international World’s competition.  The a cappella committee agreed to reinstate the Bellas if we win it.”  All of this in no more excitable a tone than “Might rain this Tuesday.”

“So, wait, you’re going to compete – internationally?”

“Mmhm.”  She bites off another piece of muffin and adds, “We want to see what we’re up against, so we’re scouting the competition.”

“This is perfect,” Jesse says.  She arches an eyebrow at him.   _Tread carefully_.  “Bec.  The Bellas are the best.  You’ll kill it.”

“You know you totally just jinxed us, right?” Beca says dryly, topping off his drink and standing up.  He follows suit and presses a kiss that she  _mms_ into, adding when they break apart, “Didn’t realize it was a holiday.”

“It’s not,” Jesse assures, “sometimes you’re just too pretty not to kiss.”

A delicate flush colors her cheeks as she says, “You’re a dork.”

“You know it.”  Then, kissing the top of her nose to make her roll her eyes, he says, “Need a lift to the studio?”

“If you promise not to be weird.”

Grinning, he says, “I promise.”

* * *

 

He totally makes it weird.

But he still grins like a fiend when she says, “You can go now!”

He just hopes they don’t put her through too many verbal shredders; she’s tough, but she’s not infallible, and no one can keep their resting bitch face in place twenty-four seven.  (She might be the exception to that rule, because she can even keep it in place when he tickles her until he catches her off guard and then she  _shrieks_.)

Cranking up the radio, he’s still replaying their conversation in his head on his drive back to the Treblemakers’ house, puzzling over her sudden remorse as she’d turned to him mid-step and asked,  _Dude, why do I feel so guilty about this?  I’ve given a lot to the Bellas._

_Yeah, Bec, you should not feel guilty about seizing your moment._

If the Bellas win World’s, awesome.  But if Beca finds success in her field fresh out of college – well, he can’t want it enough for her _._

He wants her to succeed.  And he knows she wants it, too, and will do anything to achieve it.

 _Nothing’s gonna stop my girl,_ he thinks.

* * *

If only he knew what she was up against.


	3. i'mma change your life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three's a good number, so that's how many installments you guys get today. Since this story is written from Jesse's POV, we don't see: Emily and her mom before orientation, Chloe booking the tickets for Copenhagen, Beca's first day at the office, or Emily auditioning for the Bellas. So that brings us all the way to the tiki party! Which Jesse advertised post-orientation, passing Emily a flier (omitted in the previous section. Lots of omissions, I know! Jesse just isn't in the know).
> 
> Regardless: my name's euro, here's the third installment of we got the world. Thoughts always appreciated.

The turnout for the tiki party is better than Jesse had thought it would be.

There’s a good bass to the music that thumps through his chest, drinks and laughter mingling freely as Trebles and countless other a cappella nerds dance together.  The Bellas haven’t shown up yet, but he isn’t worried; they’re always fashionably late, only materializing once the party is really underway.  He loves their annual welcome back party, his heart heavy in his chest when he realizes that this is it.

_Senior year._

Still, he thinks, downing his second drink, he’s going to make it worthwhile.  First he just needs his girlfriend to show up; it all feels weird celebrating without her, especially at an a cappella party.  It’s fine for him to go out with the Trebles to get a drink or for her to spend time on her own with the Bellas, but it doesn’t sit right with him to party without Beca there.

 _C’mon, Bec,_ he implores, wondering if she went back to the house and completed everything on her to-do list before deigning to show up.

He’s checking his watch compulsively every five minutes by the time the half hour mark arrives, his hopes sinking with the sun as darkness envelopes the pool deck.

The music gets louder and better and the collective blood alcohol level soars until there isn’t a sober person in the room, but he’s still not enjoying himself until he spots Chloe, relief coursing through him.

She’s with the Bellas, of course, and he’s on his feet and right in front of Chloe in seconds, her gaze flitting up to him, startled, as she demands, “Where’s Beca?”

Confusion sweeps over him.  “I thought she was with you?”

“I thought she was with you,” Chloe counters, brow furrowing.  There’s a moment of awkward parrying, then, as they both try to decide who should be blamed for the discrepancy.

Then Chloe says, “She’ll show up.”

“Of course,” Jesse agrees.

And they wordlessly resolve to ignore Beca’s absence as the Bellas disperse into the crowd.

Another half hour passes and he’s sitting at the bar nursing a third drink and contemplating calling Benji over to help him do some recon when she wraps her arms around his shoulders.  “Hey!” he says, except her lips are on his before he can set down his drink.  Relief surges through him as arousal pools low in his belly, his fingers itching to pull her closer.  “How’d it go?” he asks as she flops into the seat next to him, scooting his drink over to her side of the counter and looking incredibly world weary.  He puts a hand on her thigh and gives it the tiniest encouraging shake as she smiles at him.

“It went good.  I think.  He’s definitely in the big leagues.”

“That’s awesome.”

Beca nods, looking wiped out even though she hasn’t had anything to drink yet, and Jesse’s worried that she won’t even want to give the party a chance, that she’ll slip away with an “I’m just gonna call it a night” before she downs the rest of his drink.

“Why didn’t you tell Chloe where you were?” he asks, knowing how out of character it is for Chloe to not know Beca’s whereabouts at virtually all times (“it’s only weird if you don’t embrace it”).

“Oh, I just, you know,” Beca says, that out of breath tinge in her voice still apparent as she shrugs.  “She’s so caught up in World’s right now, I didn’t want to bother her.”  Backpedaling, she adds with a dismissive wave of her hand, “I’ll tell her; it just wasn’t the right time.”

Letting it go – he can’t force her to share – he gives her thigh a final pat and says, “Hey, come on, let’s go dance.”

She grins and joins him, the tension evaporating between them as she finds a drink and downs it.  “That isn’t safe, you know,” he tells her, swaying her playfully to the beat as she hums and lets him move her.

“It’s an a cappella party, what’s the worst that could happen?”

They have to talk loudly to be heard over the music, but she’s bright-eyed and tipsy in his arms in a matter of minutes, vanishing to snag another drink while he gets low with the boys, enjoying himself more thoroughly now.

“We added a legacy,” is the first thing she tells him when she returns to his orbit, slipping in to grind her hips against his before backing away when he tries to set a rhythm with a mischievous smile.  “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

It’s wild trying to keep up with her sometimes so he lets the music wash over her and listens with as much attention as he can muster to her words while her hips do sinful things to the arousal just behind his jeans.  Just when he’s panting with need, unheard over the bass, she breaks away with a laugh and disappears into the crowd.

She’s amazing when she’s drunk, grinding and dancing like a stripper, shamelessly giving herself to whoever happens to be closest.  More often than not it’s an equally drunk Chloe reeling her in for a hug while the girls take turns dancing in the spotlight.  At last it’s Beca’s turn and she bobs her head and shimmies her hips and moves until the quality of the dance is lost in the energy of the crowd, everyone coming closer and closer until space between them is scarce.

And Jesse indulges his own dorky side as the night wears on, taking pleasure endorsing various drinking companies as he samples drinks at the bar and sings along to the more energetic beats.  There’s no sense of time as he dances, only aware of Beca flitting in and out of his immediate vicinity, drawing near enough to drive him crazy before inevitably breaking apart to go chat with the girls or just grind on one of them until his entire face is red and he’s positive he’s not the only hot-and-bothered person in attendance.

They’re both drunk, full blown, _you’re blurry_ drunk, which is why their clothes stay on even if their hands turn needy on each other’s bodies.  He tucks his hands in her back pockets and reels her in close while she moans against his mouth.  She’s way too loud but no one seems to notice, and Fat Amy isn’t around to tease (or Bumper, for that matter, which is gross and he definitely isn’t going to dwell on that mental image), and Chloe only offers them a wry smile whenever he catches her eye.

“Come on,” he tells Beca, who shivers when he kisses across her jawline, ear to throat.  “Come on, let’s go.”

She doesn’t answer aloud, pressing herself flat against him and letting their warmth sink into each other’s clothes before pulling back, the cool night air making them both shiver.

* * *

Drunk sex is totally not all it cracked up to be, Jesse thinks in a fleeting moment of sobriety as he kisses apologetically across Beca’s stomach, her fingers tangled in his hair and tugging lightly, methodically as he does so.  She winces when she shifts her leg and he kisses her inner thigh, her breathing deepening as he does so.  He hasn’t ruined the evening, but he’s definitely killed the mood, her crackling cry startling him out of his reverie until only guilt and a need to _fix_ remained.

Coaxing little sighs out of her as he strokes her skin, he thinks that he might be succeeding.  His own arousal is gone, and he’s not at all sorry, feeling duly shamed for pushing too hard, too fast, and making her gasp in the wrong way as he murmured apologies into her skin and pulled out.  He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t even want to sleep on it, just wants to make her feel good, and she doesn’t object even when he noses against the apex of her thighs and she breathes out heavily in response.

Her idle grip in his hair turns needier as he works her over, a different sort of arousal burning low in his belly.  He doesn’t think he could come if he tried, but he likes listening to her, likes making her arch in his grip and chant his name.

He’s so careful, but he hasn’t been dating her for three years for nothing.  All his attention shifts from the heat in the room to the immediate desire to make her fall apart, his senses attuned to her needs as he curves his hands around her legs and takes her apart.

His jaw is sore, but his arousal still tugs hard at his belly when she comes, a deep, shuddery groan resonating in her chest as he eases her through it.  When he leans up and kisses her belly again, satisfied, she fumbles at his shirt, dragging him up to kiss her, and it should totally be weird but they’re not new to sex and there’s nothing _unsexy_ about her, so it’s hot instead, and he can’t get hard but he almost wants to when she reaches down and palms him through his jeans, letting out an inquisitive noise against his mouth.

“Shh,” he mumbles, lacing their fingers together and pushing them against the bed as he kisses her.

It doesn’t matter that they’ll both have killer hangovers in the morning, her body curling up to meet his as sleep overtakes her.

He has her, and what else could he need?

Rubbing her arm lightly, he lets oblivion chase him down, evening out into sleep as she hiccups once against him before settling.

God, he loves her so much.

* * *

In the morning, when he absolutely cannot and will not move for less than the bed beneath him catching fire, she tucks the sheets around him and kisses his bare shoulder, drawing the curtains closed and coaxing pain killers and water into him.  He captures her with an arm slung around her back and she lets him drag her down with a deep sigh, tucking her cheek against his chest and falling asleep in seconds.

She’s really good at that, and he almost envies her the ability to sleep as he listens to the increasingly ear-splitting tempo of the girls below.  When even a pillow over his head is insufficient, he settles for rubbing Beca’s back, silent until at last the skull-cracking headache settles to a duller, more manageable ache.

She’s nice to him all morning, making him sunny-side up eggs and letting him steal a few coveted slices of bacon from her plate before subsequently swiping bacon from Chloe’s.  Most of the girls are thankfully almost as hungover as Beca is, subdued if not totally knocked out, and he’s grateful for the unusually quiet conversations that felt like thunder in his ears when he first woke up.

He lives here, gravitates in whatever orbit she occupies, and he loves it.

“You never told me about your job,” he murmurs, slinging his arms low around her waist as she hugs him back on the porch.

“I don’t think my boss hates me yet, so that’s a first,” she replies, squeezing him before letting him go.  “What’s on your agenda today?”

“It’s Saturday, right?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Nothing till three.  Trebles’ rehearsal.”

“You guys don’t quit,” Beca muses.

“Damn straight.”

Letting a thoughtful pause stretch between them, she asks at last, “How would you like to come to a car show?”


	4. tsunami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments go a long way. <3

Jesse can count the number of times he’s been speechless on one hand.

Watching DSM perform is one of them.

* * *

“Okay, just because you are making me very sexually confused right now does not mean that you’re intimidating.  We have nothing to lose!  Literally nothing!  Aca-wiedersehen, bitches!”

Even with his spirits dampened, Jesse can’t help but smile.  _So you speak German now,_ he muses fondly as he crosses the floor, closing the space between them in six steps.  Beca has her hands buried in her hair, already in full meltdown mode as she mutters _ohmygodwhyamIusingmyhandsomuch_.  “Hey,” he says, slinging his arms around her back and pulling her in for a hug.  “Deep breath.”

“Jesse.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her, and he can feel her erratic breathing against his chest, her heart thumping rabbit-quick against him as he rubs her back.  “Just calm down for a second.”

“We can’t win,” she whispers for his ears alone.

He rakes a hand down her spine and kisses her temple softly, repeating, “Deep breath.”

She obliges and he feels some of the tension ease out of her shoulders as she repeats the gesture three times, getting herself back under control.

When she breaks away from his grip, he lets her.  He knows better than to try and hold her back, to trust and accept her self-imposed limits.  Even if said limits push past those that he would risk for her.  Sometimes all he can do is hope that she knows to take care of herself.

They regroup, and Jesse knows from his fly-on-the-wall perspective that their odds against Das Sound Machine are painfully slim, but neither Beca nor Chloe voice any doubt of their victory as they schedule rehearsals.

It won’t be easy, but if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that the Bellas on a warpath are unstoppable.

* * *

She’s stressed, so she’s avoiding him.

He can’t say he’s surprised.  It’s been almost a month since DSM made their first appearance, but little has changed at the Bellas’ household.  Fat Amy still has a blow horn on hand for any surprise calls from DSM (“Have they actually done that?” “Not yet,” she answers darkly), and Chloe has successfully managed to schedule work herself into such a frenzy that even the mention of DSM sends her into a fit of “Emergency meeting, tonight.”

Meanwhile, his scary earspike girlfriend is nowhere to be seen.

Whistling calmly, he walks down the empty hallways.  The nighttime atmosphere makes him feel both at home and vaguely intrusive.

Rounding the corner, he lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding when he sees her.

“Bec.”

She grunts in acknowledgement, lying spread-eagled on one of the the mats in the gym with her eyes closed.  It’s late and his heart is still coming down from it’s initial _where’s Beca?_ high.  Even exhausted and clearly stressed, she’s still whole, and that’s good enough for now.  He nudges her foot with a toe and smiles when she groans, holding out his arms and saying, “Come on.  Up and at ‘em.”

Opening her eyes to mere slits, she asks, “If we don’t perform at Worlds, does DSM still kick our ass?”

“You know I got like a C in intro to philosophy, right?”

“Touché.”  Grabbing his hands, she lets him pull her up, hissing in pain as he does so.

“So how long have you been lying here?” he asks, amused, as he dusts her off.

She checks her watch and grunts before saying, “About forty five minutes.”

“If you wanted to dull your mind with crippling boredom, you could just stack CDs with me,” he says, steadying her when she sways.  “Luke still pays in nickels and Twinkies.”

“He’s really shaped up since I left, hasn’t he?”

“Totally reformed.  He even says _thank you_ when I bring him his daily cheeseburger.  I’m starting to think he’s going soft.”

“Shame,” Beca says, stretching her arms over and behind her head with a wince.  “I thought you had Trebles’ rehearsal,” she adds, letting him pull her into his hold as she lowers her arms.

Rubbing her arms slowly, he says, “You’ve been practicing nonstop for three weeks.  Take a break.  Come get a beer.  You’re not going to win World’s if you work yourself to exhaustion.”

“We won’t stand a chance if we aren’t in the best shape of our lives,” she reminds him, still a touch breathless.  “How’d you find me anyway?”

“You were late for our movie date,” he tells her, steering her towards the exit as she drapes an arm around his waist companionably.

Her brow furrows, confusion clouding her expression briefly.  “What movie date?”

* * *

In the end, it doesn’t matter what movie he pulls up from his Netflix queue.  Her standoffishness fades as he sets his fingers to work, taking her apart from the shoulders-down.

They’re back-to-front, so he can’t read her expressions easily, but he still feels every tiny shift in her breathing as his hands trace deep, winding patterns across her skin.  It’s easy to get lost in the flow of his palms across her shoulders, appreciating the barely audible hush of fabric over them as he sets to work, building repetition.  Once her breathing settles he dips his hands under her shirt, rubbing her lower back in slow circles with his thumbs before sweeping his hands up the length of it and returning to her shoulders.

When she sinks more fully into his embrace, he pushes his thumbs carefully against her skin and digs in for the long haul, her soft moan all the encouragement he needs.

An hour passes, but he doesn’t care as the movie – an _Avengers_ film neither of them are particularly invested in – carries on.  Speed is counterproductive when it comes to a good back rub.  Given enough time the repetition of long, sweeping strokes down her spine is enough to put her to sleep.  He aims higher than that tonight, mapping the tense lines zigzagging across her skin and slowly, slowly working through the knots.  It’s hypnotic work, a task he takes genuine pleasure in as he feels the relaxation seep into her skin.

Ninety minutes into the film, she’s asleep, breathing slowly and deeply against his chest as he holds her and rubs idle circles against her stomach.  He doesn’t mind watching the film alone, even if it is the seventh time he’s seen it.  All he has to do is lean back against the pillows and listen to her, his senses overwhelmed with how light and perfect she is in his arms, her body cradled between his legs.  She smells _amazing,_ freshly showered and cozied up in a pair of worn pajamas she never intentionally left at his place but never reclaimed for her own room, either.

They’ve talked about moving in together, weighed the pros and cons, even gone so far as to look up apartments that they might, maybe, consider sharing.  But they’ve never given voice to it, never said _So when are you going to move in?_

He finds it hard to imagine living full-time with the Bellas.  He loves the girls and their energy, but he needs his quiet space, too.  There’s something about their house that never seems fully restful, like it’s always one step away from a party (or an explosion, as happened in the middle of the night once when Fat Amy blew up the microwave).  Even Beca chooses to sleep and study at his place as often as she can, claiming that it’s quieter and easier to process things.

So it leads to unspoken conversations as he watches her and wonders how many ways she can move in without making it official.  She claims corners of his room with her things and sets up in his bathroom like it’s always belonged to her, even asks what they’re having for dinner as if the thought of eating apart didn’t occur to her. 

If he’s completely honest, he doesn’t know he’d like it if she left the Bellas; he’d miss how they put the fun in dysfunctional.

Resting his back against the pillows and holding her close, he resolves not to worry about it until he has to.

They’ll work it out.  They always do.

* * *

Jesse is dozing off himself when the room is bathed in light.

Beca scrunches up her face, pressing it against his neck as he rubs her back and shushes her, squinting at Benji’s bright red face. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ll –”

He flicks off the lights, Jesse’s hushed, “It’s okay, it’s fine,” lost as he stumbles into the room and trips over a case on the floor.  “Benj, it’s fine, don’t kill yourself,” he says, yawning as he scratches the back of Beca’s head lightly, making her hum against his shoulder.  “Just turn on a light.”

Looking thoroughly chastened, Benji turns on a light, still blushing furiously.  “You didn’t put a sock on the door.”

“The sock is for sexytimes, Benji.  What’s up?”

“Don’t say ‘sexytimes,’” Beca mumbles against his throat.

He tugs her hair lightly in retaliation and whispers, “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“Mm.”

Finding it increasingly difficult to focus on his best friend with his girlfriend sprawled on top of him, he makes an executive call and rolls them over, smirking when Beca immediately tangles her hands in his shirt and pulls him down on top of her.  Careful to keep his weight on his elbows and knees so he doesn’t smother her, he kisses her forehead.

“This counts as sexytimes,” Benji chimes in, voice small.

Beca groans and Jesse snickers against her throat, letting more of his weight tilt onto her until she squirms.

Still, she’s taken the self-defense course Aubrey mandated three years ago and he knows that she could, should she so desire, have him on the floor with his arm behind his back in six seconds.

Since she does not, he lets his weight settle more comfortably, feeling her arms slide around his lower back in response.

The sole light goes out just as he leans down to kiss her, and the door clicks shut behind Benji before Jesse can even assure him that they’re not going to do anything, her hand tangling in his hair as she sighs into the kiss.

Her stomach growls and he can’t help it: he laughs.

“You are such a dork,” he tells her, kissing her again before sitting up.  “Did you really not eat?”  Without waiting for her to answer, he climbs to his feet and pulls her upright, insisting, “Come on.  Snack time.”

They talk strategy and share a cappella war stories over homemade milkshakes, Benji managing to keep his distance even as the remaining Trebles materialize from the woodwork to share the bounty.

When he sings, _my milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard,_ he totally deserves the pillow to his face.

It’s not a punch, and from her that’s basically an _I love you._


	5. and the trumpets they go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You guys are amazing. This is short because it leads to our next major sequence: the National A Capella Laser Ninja Dragon League sing off. I didn't want to gloss over Beca's work entirely, nor did I want to cram that awesomeness all into one short section, so I'm splitting the two events and asking your temporary patience. All in due time! Thank you again; I hope you enjoy.

Jesse has to admit that making their relationship work isn’t always easy.

There are days when he’s tired beyond reason and takes it out on other people, when he can’t be bothered to do anything but the bare minimum, when messiness is livable and that’s all he needs.  There are nights when he wants to go out drinking and other nights when he’s six feet deep in assignments, struggling to keep the thin tether he has on sanity before it slips away from him.  In the midst of such hurricanes, he can’t claim altruism.

Inevitably, these events don’t always coincide with her schedule.

And yet he still finds time to pick up her favorite flavor of ice cream, still takes a second to toss his laundry in the basket, still drapes a blanket over her when she clocks out on _his_ favorite spot on the couch.

In return she doesn’t push him for details or make him explain himself.  She keeps her criticisms about his lifestyle to herself (unless the perfect storm converges and they’re both isolated and moody and no amount of passivity can keep the aggression hidden, at which point they storm off to their respective corners to cool off).

She lets him have his space, but she never drifts too far, checking in and making a concerted effort to care more and assume less.  It’s nice, having someone who doesn’t just banter with him but sees past well-practiced facades and cuts to the deeper issue.  He likes that he trusts her with his worst moments, knowing she won’t run off and treat him like a pariah if he has a meltdown.

Depending on the severity of said meltdown, she might even kick off her shoes and force herself into the tiny nook between his body and the wall and watch movies with him until the edges have softened.

So when he doesn’t get the studio job he desperately wanted, she doesn’t force him to reiterate the news.  Benji told her – she’s always in the loop with half the Treblemakers ratting him out – and she doesn’t even text him until she knocks on his door at one AM.

“I thought you hated romantic gestures,” he murmurs in his sleep-heavy voice, neither sleeping nor restful but feeling drained as he tucks his arms around her hips.

“This isn’t romantic,” she assures, hugging him tight before securing a spot on the bed.

They watch _Star Wars_ until he’s yawning every third word, his commentary descending into a slur of noise as she hums and lets him rest his face against her belly.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep until he feels her move underneath him.  She shuts off the lights and even tucks a blanket over him before popping the next _Star Wars_ film in the laptop, cozying up on the pillows, settling in for the long haul.

His last thought before sleep overtakes him is _I love you so, so much._

* * *

In the morning, she’s singing  _No Diggity_ in nothing but boy shorts and a tank top as she does his laundry.

And then she makes him bacon.

He may have to miss out on job opportunities more often.

* * *

Luke is actually happy to see him.

It takes Jesse a while to get to the _why_ of it until Luke passes him a box filled with CDs and a simple “welcome back” and emerges from his booth three hours later to find the entire shop organized.

He can’t make a career stacking CDs – nor would he want to, in all honesty – but with Luke playing Beca’s mixes to pass the time and his pay upgraded twofold, he’s feeling good about his options.

If nothing else, it totally beats flipping burgers, he decides, as he slides a bag full of them, unasked, onto Luke’s doorstep.

* * *

It still stings, and he can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time he sees Beca glowing after work.  They’re sitting under the tree with their picnic blanket and a pair of juice pouches, her hands waving as she tells him all about her demos and her boss’s reaction to her Christmas mashup.

“Bec, that’s amazing,” he tells her, and she’s so delighted that she doesn’t even care when he takes her juice pouch and drains half of it.  Leaning back on his hands, he asks, “So when’s he going to put them on the radio?”

“Hopefully as soon as he listens to them,” Beca says, cheeks flushed with pride.

“Can’t wait to hear them,” Jesse responds earnestly.

* * *

(Except he won’t get to hear them because she’ll lock herself in her room and cry at two in the morning over her inability to be a music producer before calling him.

He won’t answer.)

* * *

Before everything goes to hell, there’s a letter on their doorstep.

_Barden University Treblemakers:_

_You are formally invited to an a cappella sing-off._

It’s strange, with the music and cards and everything, but it’s not entirely unheard of in the a cappella community.  They all have a penchant for the dramatic, and he doesn’t think twice about it as he walks onto the outdoor patio and rounds up the buzzed Trebles for a good old fashioned riff off.

 _About time,_ he thinks, spirits lifting at the thought of being able to finally show off their stuff for the first time _against_ the Bellas this year.

Don’t get him wrong, he _loves_ the Bellas, adores them, really, but _never surrender_ is practically in his blood.

_Bring it on._


	6. she hit the floor (next thing you know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a good sing off?

There are two things the Trebles love.

Singing and fart jokes.

Needless to say, gaining entry to the a cappella party is not a problem.

* * *

“Trebles.  I’m so glad y’all came!”

Whatever Jesse was expecting, their host isn’t it.  He’s bright and effervescent, not wanting in either the friendly or inviting departments, but he’s still disarmingly mature to be hosting an a cappella showdown.  Jesse’s brain immediately supplies _kidnap for ransom_ when he thinks of possible motives for their appearance.  The Trebles exchange meaningful looks as soon as their host turns to lead them farther into his mansion, a silent battle of wills taking place until at last Jesse steps forward and they fall in line.

He’s their front man.  Wherever the front man goes, the Trebles follow.

He can’t say that he’s actually bubbling with confidence as they enter a labyrinth of long hallways and high ceilings, eventually stopping at a bar for a drink.  “Can I get you boys anything?” their host asks. Jesse subtly crushes the in-step of a nearby Treble when he opens his mouth to respond.  Benji is actually speechless at his side, which is probably good, because if Jesse needs to talk their way out of this he definitely won’t need any help.

“No?  All right then.”

“So – when’s the sing off?” Jesse asks, playing up his confidence as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Did you not read the card?” their host asks with an amused smile, tipping the drink to his lips.

Jesse racks his brain for details.

At last, Benji says, “The other teams aren’t here.”

“Exactly!  But make yourselves at home.  We’re just waiting on two groups.”

 _They’re always fashionably late_ crosses Jesse’s mind as he follows their host down another lengthy hallway, the Trebles keeping pace.  He can’t shake the analogy of a mother duck and her ducklings, aware that they’re following a mongoose deeper into its lair and he should probably call the whole thing off before someone gets hurt.

Before he can make any executive calls, they halt in front of a massive game room, filled with pool tables – two of which are occupied, and Jesse’s heart skips a beat because _no frickin’ way_ – and a wet bar at the far corner.  Chatter fills the air as a hundred conversationalists mingle, the cracking of pool balls evidently irresistible to the Trebles as they break away to join the fun.  He doesn’t try to stop them – they’re adults, and Benji hasn’t left his side, anyway – but he does take a slow sweep of the room before following their host’s lead to the bar.

“So what is this place?” he asks, taking a seat at the bar stool and patting the one next to him so Benji will do the same.

“This is my humble abode,” their host replies, fetching more drinks that they accept, Benji sipping his like a kindergartner while Jesse chugs his in one fell swoop.  “A sanctuary for a cappella teams to meet and compete.”  Then, nodding eminently in the direction of – yep, that’s Clay Matthews, _holy shit_ – the Green Bay Packers, he adds, “And it’s our biannual chance to meet up and have a drink together.  I once pulled them out of tough financial times and they’ve been friendly with me ever since.”

It takes every ounce of will power not to abandon his seat and trip over his own feet in his haste to be at their side, prodding their host for more details about the event as he surreptitiously watches the boys engage in pool and drinks alike.  There are, thankfully, only a handful of women, keeping Jesse’s job relatively simple.  (Even if the Trebles don’t discriminate and the room has a few smoking hot specimens, forcing him to be on his toes.)

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he asks, their host humming along to _The Other Side_ and flapping a hand dismissively.

“Oh, sure, sure, you boys have fun,” he tells them.

Jesse offers his most winning smile and grabs Benji’s arm, all but dragging him off his chair as he holds his half-finished drink close to his chest.

“You don’t think the Bellas will show up, do you?” Benji asks, white in the face, and Jesse rubs his back, hoping to instill a sense of confidence in him as he walks them across the room.

“We’re gonna kill it,” he assures him.

Benji makes a tiny doubtful noise and Jesse releases him as they reach the Green Bay Packers’ sides, the air in the room thinning noticeably.  “Hi,” he squeaks, actually squeaks, before clearing his throat and adding in a high-pitched approximation of his normal voice, “hi.”

Ever en pointe, Benji holds out a hand to shake and says, “Benji Applebaum.”  Then, as Jesse tries to force a meaningful word past his sudden paralysis, he adds helpfully, “Jesse Swanson.  Big fan.”

Clay hugs them and Jesse might actually black out for a moment, but Benji has a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady and he _just hugged_ a Green Bay Packer.

A feat he repeats four times in relatively quick succession, making a strangled noise of delight as he laughs and claps them on the back.

Two drinks later and a couple rounds of pool and they’re chatting each other up like boys in a locker room.  It isn’t until he’s pleasantly buzzed and not entirely reliant on the sensory information provided by his own eyes – the room has definitely not acquired a blurry, bluish tinge – when Clay talks about how much they love a cappella and the other Packers join in.

The competition is far from his mind as Jesse grins and warbles _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ as the Trebles join in.

Their host claps the loudest when they finish, crying out, “Wonderful, Trebles, absolutely wonderful!”

“Don’t go easy on us tonight,” Clay jokes as Jesse accepts a punch to the shoulder that almost knocks him off his feet.

He’ll totally have a monster bruise tomorrow and Beca will notice it with an “oh my _god_ what happened?” and he’ll make a wordless noise of delight because he was _punched_ by a _Green Bay Packer._

 _You are so weird,_ she’ll tell him, cozying up to his opposite shoulder instead.

 _My life rules,_ he thinks, grinning as he kicks back his feet and twangs along with the radio.

* * *

Of course, once the Trebles start singing, the Tonehangers aren’t far behind, crooning country songs and even giving pop a run for its money.  Aside from the Bellas, Jesse doesn’t know which team is missing – they’re already got a good crowd going – but his phone is silent in his pocket and for once he feels no temptation to call and hurry them along.

The later they are, the more time he gets to spend breathing the same air as Clay Matthews.

* * *

And then Das Sound Machine arrives.

Quiet sweeps over the room as their leaders cut a swath through the crowd, the host trailing behind and appearing out of sorts against their authority.

Jesse is too far away to hear most of their conversation, but he still catches the soft, lethal, “Where are the Bellas?” from the female lead.

“They’ll be here any minute,” their host assures, tapping on his mic – _where the hell did that come from_ – and inviting everyone to join him in the showdown arena.

They abandon their games and pile into the room, brushing corners and rubbing elbows until it’s impossible to avoid interaction altogether, the mood of the room softening as the music eases some of the tension.

They’re here to sing, not fight to the death, and no matter how many times he repeats it to himself Jesse is halfway convinced that one of the DSM members will stab him in the back as soon as he turns it.

“Treblemaker,” the female lead greets, and he turns with a cordial smile in her direction, glad that he’s had a few drinks to calm any nerves he might be feeling.  “What an . . . unexpected surprise.”

Her righthand man dwarfs Jesse in both stature and intensity, smiling coolly down at him as Jesse straightens his shoulders, using every bit of his height to his advantage.

“Try to lose with dignity,” righthand man quips.

“Wouldn’t want any feelings to be hurt,” lead adds with a ruthless smile.  “Barden has a reputation.  We’re here to destroy it.”

Before he can respond, they walk off, the hair on the backs of his arms standing on edge.

 _Friendly group,_ he thinks, retreating over to the Trebles’ corner.

* * *

A full hour passes before the Bellas arrive.

The heat and noise in the room block his senses so he doesn’t pick up on their arrival immediately, startling when he catches sight of Beca, looking supremely harried.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks, and he opens his mouth to respond before the gong bangs and he has to turn away with an apologetic, “I’ve gotta go.”

“No, wait –”

The Trebles are already assembling and he doesn’t have time to explain, he doesn’t know _what’s_ going on, but he’s ready to give it their best shot.

“Ready for this?” he asks Benji, clapping him on the shoulder.  He’s white-faced again and Jesse rubs his back with a sigh, trying to instill a sense of _come on, dude, you got this._

* * *

On stage, DSM is impressive.

In person, they’re all but unstoppable.

* * *

He keeps his game face on even when the Packers perform _Bootylicious,_ struggling more so with the Bellas when they sing _Low._

Still, they pick up the ball and run with it, gaining momentum as Benji raps and they find their groove when –

“You know what is?  Courtship and chivalry and I’ll take you out to dinner at a nice cool restaurant and I’ll tip the waiter.”

“ _What?_ ”

The unseen audience member voices Jesse’s astonishment perfectly, and even when their host approaches with a deeply disappointed look on his face, Jesse holds it together.

The lights shut off their corner and he feels defeat settle in his gut.  “Sorry?” Beca mouths.

He shrugs and smiles bitterly, a wordless _it’s okay._

First round.

Not exactly the rock stars they used to be.

* * *

Still, he’s almost glad that they’re eliminated first.  He can watch the rest of the game unimpeded, impressed by the Tonehangers as much as he’s intimidated by DSM.

The Bellas steal the show for him, and there isn’t a doubt in his mind that they’ll win it when Beca steps forward and belts, “I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive, carved my name into his _leather seats._ ”  She grabs one of the Tonehangers’ chest and he thinks _hot damn_ as she shoves him back, a wolfish pleasure written across her face. “I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all four tires,” _there’s my southern belle,_ he thinks with an amused smirk at the extra twang, zeroing in on the finale as she finishes, “maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats,” with a meaningful cutthroat gesture.

 _Remind me to never get on your bad side,_ he thinks, amused.

Had the a cappella standoff been an actual fight to the death, there’s no doubt in his mind that the Green Bay Packers would have won.  As it is, they’re out of their element, and though disappointed, Jesse isn’t surprised when they fail to come up with a number for _country love_ and face subsequent elimination.

Two down, two to go.  He’s placed his bets.

* * *

And then the Tonehangers go down with _What’s Love_ and Jesse feels his heart racing as he watches the Bellas and DSM face off.  Their height differences are painfully clear, DSM towering over them and producing a wall of sound that swallows even the cockiest ego whole.

It’s over, he thinks, but he still chants _come on, come on, come on_ with each subsequent number until the speed overtakes them and DSM is still going strong but the Bellas are coming up short and then –

“I’ve got all I need when I got you and I, I look around me and see sweet life, I’m stuck in the dark but you’re my flashlight, getting me, getting me through the night.”

_Oh my god._

The roar of condemnation is absolute.  At his side, Benji makes a tiny noise of dismay and the Bellas shrink back visibly when their host bears down on them, struggling to come up with anything to say until at last –

“What is your name?”

“Emily.”

The host lets a meaningful pause fill the space.  “Emily.  I hate you.”

He turns and the Bellas are still shell-shocked when he announces, with great regret, that DSM has won.

They're cheering and Jesse only has eyes for the Bellas when DSM launches into _Jump._ Before he can push his way through the crowd, Beca, Chloe, and Emily disappear.  He wonders if they’re going to kick Emily out of the Bellas before he weaves his way through the mix of people and finds them.

Beca still looks troubled, but the dismay vanishes when he says, “Let’s go meet the Green Bay Packers.”

She's like a kid in a candy shop; he can barely keep up with her.  It’s still fun introducing her to them and to have them say, “Oh, yeah, your boyfriend’s a real nice guy,” before she proves how insanely talented and awesome she is without even trying.

She’s got their numbers and a pair of season tickets locked down before night is over. 

Jesse couldn’t actually be more impressed if he tried.

* * *

As he walks her home that night – or she walks him home, he’s not actually sure – he notices the dead air between them, their footsteps loud in the quiet.

“Everything okay?” he asks, shoulder-checking her lightly.

She shrugs, house keys dangling from one hand as she tucks it in the lock and shoves open the door.

Despite the lateness of the hour, they’re still the first ones home.  Jesse doesn’t even have time to comment on it before she’s pushing him against the door and kissing him, hard.

He doesn’t protest or give voice to any of his questions.  He doesn’t know how her standoffishness translated into a frenzy of _need_ , but he wants to be caught up in her storms, is pulled inexorably towards her even when he doesn’t understand her, and he follows her lead until everything outside their immediate proximity is far from their minds.

When they’re both quiet and panting afterward, he brushes her hair back from her forehead and tells her, again and again, “You are amazing.”

And he thinks, as he sweeps a hand down her bare back and she lounges against his side, she might even believe it.


	7. that girl (is a problem)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Thank you so much for your incredible feedback. I hope you enjoy this goofy little "extra." Takes place before Beca gets the news that her demos aren't going to cut it.

 

When Jesse arrived at Barden three years ago, he knew that college wouldn't be like the movies.

No one ever had their girlfriend puke on their back in the movies (or maybe they did and he filed it discreetly under the  _never would I ever date a girl who threw up on me_  category). Cinematic stars never dealt with the mind-numbing tedium of standing in line for six hours for the last  _Harry Potter_ movie premiere, nor did they have to fish deep in the empty recesses of shampoo bottles before grudgingly pouring their girlfriend's shampoo in their hair. They didn't run out of toothpaste, nick themselves with their razors, or deal with the ordinary frustrations that compromised his very existence at Barden University.

Most importantly, he thinks, ears red as he stares at the array of  _feminine products_  at the grocery store like a man unto his maker, awestricken and terrified, no Hollywood sweetheart has to buy tampons for their girlfriend. Or their girlfriend's girl friends, who refuse to grant him entry to the Bellas House until he returns with their request.

He's twenty-one, but he still buys four bunches of bananas and a packet of foil before glaring at his nemeses and tossing three different varieties into the basket. (He is  _not_ calling Beca to ask about tampons at eleven at night, thank you.)

To his credit, the clerk only smiles in a gently deprecating way before ringing him up.

His ears  _glow_ the entire walk to the car and when Benji pops a bubble of gum and asks him how it went, he says, "I think I might actually have transcended all other forms of embarrassment."

"Awesome."

"You're on duty next time."

Benji sinks into his seat a few inches and says nothing the entire ride home, Jesse's gaze fixed on the road ahead as he does his best to ignore his newest acquisition.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Jesse is back at the grocery store, noticeably harried and bright red from ear to ear.

The clerk doesn't even try to hide his wan smile as he rings him up for the pads, offering him a cheerful "have a good night" that Jesse narrowly avoids returning with the bird.

* * *

"Thinking about starting a meth lab?" the clerk – Jimmy, and Jesse's already locked down his name as  _stupid Jimmy_ for all eternity – asks as he swipes the bottles of Midol, Aleve, Tylenol, Aspirin, and Motrin across the counter.

With dignity, Jesse silently takes his purchases and walks out.

* * *

Stupid Jimmy solemnly swipes the pints of ice cream across the scanner, Jesse's brain immune to mortification as he notes rain in the upcoming forecast.

Movie stars definitely do not have to talk about the weather with a stupid store clerk at three in the morning, Jesse thinks, nodding stiffly when (stupid) Jimmy passes him his bags with an amused smile.

* * *

Jesse doesn't even ask, barely flinches at the subvocal  _growl_ from under the sheets as he crawls onto Beca's bed and curls his entire body around her.

Sensing defeat, she relaxes into his hold, neither uncurling nor acknowledging him as he breathes in slowly, calming his rabbit-y heart rate.

He is never, ever, ever going on a tampon run again.

Like, ever.

* * *

If the Bellas are more gracious to him in the following weeks, then at least his suffering doesn't go unrewarded.

Until Fat Amy discovers and then takes an inordinate amount of pleasure reenacting a Vine which ends, rather poetically, with her smacking him in the face with a box of tampons and shouting, " _TAMPONS_."

Beca laughs until she's breathless with it and he finds that, all in all, he isn't as appalled as he might have been.

* * *

He still gives stupid Jimmy a very dirty look two days later when he rings him up for a dozen more pads and wipes a single tear of amusement from his eyes.

* * *

Even if the Bellas have stolen his dignity and pride, he finds that stealing their brownies and leader is so worth the trade-offs.

Said leader doesn't even push him away when he curls into her space with his  _Star Wars_ collection and commentates through the entire series, letting her systematically tighten and loosen her hold on his shirt as he traces patterns against her back. He knows that she's harried and stressed and has a lot to do, not least of which includes keeping six other girls from killing each other, but she doesn't complain.

What he loves about her is that she falls asleep and snores into his shirt instead of telling him off for wasting her time.

* * *

And when she asks, "Leia's his sister, right?" he grins like a kid at Christmas.

"I still don't like movies," she adds coolly, biting into a slice of toast as he sneaks an arm around her waist and pulls her close.

"I love you," he tells her, pressing a kiss against her hair.

She still doesn't like movies, refuses to engage in his level of nerdiness, and doesn't actually desire to learn anything about any cinematic masterpieces, but she compromises beautifully, allowing him to inflict movies on her for the sheer purpose of watching him talk about something he's really, really passionate about.

And Jesse doesn't even need her to offer in-depth commentary or alternative psychoanalyses of major characters (that's what Benji is for). She listens and encourages. She nods and hums and asks questions in all the right places.

She treats his weird hobbies like they're worthwhile, if only because she knows how much he cares about them.

And he's deeply in love with her for that.

* * *

Of course, there are other reasons.

Jesse loves the way she sings, the way she takes charge, the way she performs.

He loves that she wants to share her music with him and let him into her world.

He loves that she does shots but still studies hard for courses she pretends not to care about.

He loves that she can't bowl a strike but can throw a punch.

He loves that she'll try new foods and take him out to new places on nights when he would have stayed in.

He loves how she claims space.

He loves how she seeks balance, not perfection.

He loves that sometimes she does his laundry without being asked or makes him coffee before he can shuffle into the kitchen.

He loves that she falls asleep in ridiculous places and only wakes up with a sleepy grizzly bear growl if he dares to fold her in his arms and carry her to bed.

Most of all, he loves that she's a dork and a weirdo, just like him.

* * *

And if it isn't exactly like the movies, he's okay with it. It's not perfect, but it's not a problem, either.

Far from it, he thinks, grinning as he scoops up his tiny angry grizzly bear and carries her off to bed.

The compromises run both ways, and he knows that when the numbers are split, he's so, so lucky to have her.


	8. once you go big (you never go back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess to an "Oh-em-aca-gee!" moment when I saw how positively people responded to the last chapter. I hope you'll enjoy this little bridge between competitions. Up next: she's on fire!

 

_Dude, why do I feel so guilty about this? I've given a lot to the Bellas._

_Yeah, Bec, you should not feel guilty about taking your shot._

If only he'd known what  _taking her shot_ would mean.

* * *

The Treblemakers are on their way home from their first competition in Indianapolis when Jesse gets the call.

_Hey._

_So you probably won't be able to hear this message because it turns out I have nothing to say. Which is music industry speak for I suck._

_And you're definitely asleep right now. That's cool. Text me when you're up._

He doesn't pick up because his phone is dead and he's asleep against the window of the van, oblivious to her message.

Later that morning, he writes,  _Hey. Talk to me._

_Can I come over?_

Blinking back surprise as he scrubs a towel through his freshly washed hair, Jesse writes,  _Sure._

Fifteen minutes later, she's lying on his couch with her feet propped in his lap and her laptop balanced on her thighs, frowning as she clicks around, the silence heavy between them.

"Wanna talk to me?" he asks, rubbing her ankles in slow sweeps.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose and it's only then that he realizes that she's crying.

"Hey," he says, gently easing her legs aside so he can close the distance between them. "Bec. What happened?" He's got an arm around her waist and she's breathing in slowly to keep herself under control, his chest aching at the reality of how far gone she is.

Beca doesn't break under pressure. She throws punches and lashes out and puts every ounce of willpower she has into staying in control, pushing people away before she ever lets them get close enough to hurt her, but she doesn't let her guard fall low enough so other people can see she's hurting.

She's hurting, now, and he takes laptop and folds it on the floor.

Curling both arms around her and hauling her into his lap, he props his feet on the nearest ottoman and lets her compose herself in silence, pressing his forehead against her shoulder in wordless support. He doesn't urge her to talk about it, doesn't try to ebb the flow of tears or end the way her breath hitches every few seconds, just rides out the meltdown with her.

When at last she has enough breath to speak, he rests his cheek against her shoulder and listens.

Never one to idle with her hands, she plays with his fingers as she tells him the full story. She explains how her boss said that her music isn't original, her demo isn't good enough, and she'll never make it in the industry as long as she's just another intern.

"You are not just another intern," he tells her heatedly, hugging her close. "Beca. You're the most talented person I know."

She sniffs and he hugs her a little tighter, aching on her behalf as he lets her get herself under control.

"Hey, do either of you want pancakes or – never mind, I'm not here," Benji finishes, melting back into the kitchen as Jesse chuckles against Beca's shoulder.

"Benji, it's okay," he tells him, rubbing Beca's arms slowly, encouraging her to be present with him and not locked in the cold, dark stresses of her life. "Want any pancakes?" he asks her.

She nods and he takes it for the victory that it is, letting her slide out of his arms slowly. She still looks tired, but she also looks like Beca, calm and unshakeable and fearless.

"Sure thing, Benj," she calls, tugging on Jesse's hand until he follows her into the kitchen.

They make blueberry pancakes together and Benji's ears are still red, but he relaxes once he sees that although they're both sleep-ruffled, neither of them bear any characteristic marks of more intimate engagements.

Jesse grabs drinks, offering Beca an unfilled cup before he pulls orange juice out of the fridge.

She has both hands resting on the base and he can't help it, the airiness of the kitchen evaporating some of the gravitas between them. "I still remember your audition song."

"No one told me we had to prepare a specific number," Beca defends, tapping the cup absentmindedly. "Chloe just cornered me in the showers and told me when the auditions were."

"Do you still remember it?" Jesse presses.

In response, she flips the cup upside, taps out the beat twice, and sings.

" _I got my ticket for the long way 'round. Two bottle of whiskey for the way. And I sure would like some sweet company and I'm leaving tomorrow what do you say? When I'm gone. When I'm gone. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone. You're gonna miss me by my hair, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh; you're gonna miss me when I'm gone._ "

She sets the cup down with a final click, eyebrows arched.

"Wow," he breathes.

He's only been rendered speechless a handful of times in his life, but watching Beca perform is always one of them.

Especially when she does what she does best: takes something good and turns it into something  _amazing._

"You're going to make it," he tells her seriously, and Benji's too busy flipping pancakes to notice the delicate way she flushes, her hands and hair still dusted with flour.

He can't imagine her doing anything  _but_ succeeding in whatever field she's in, no matter what her boss says.

* * *

True to his prediction, she comes up with a potential mashup for World's that  _day._

_Nothing's gonna stop my girl._

* * *

Standing in front of the Bellas' house Jesse helps them with the final check before launch. It isn't a formal competition – there are no judges, no other teams, no scoring cards to be measured up against – but it's still the first time the Bellas have performed professionally in front of an audience since Kennedy Center.

He can feel both the excitement and nervousness in the air. Having heard the mashup Beca has in mind, he's confident that they'll bring the house down.

"Good luck," he tells her, sliding his grip from her upper arms to her elbows as he leans down for a quick kiss.

"It's just for a bunch of old people," she reminds him, leaning up for a longer, deeper kiss, her hand tangling in his hair to hold him in place. He hums contentedly against her mouth, idly wondering if it's too late to drag her off and keep her for himself, when Chloe materializes and cheerfully drags her away.

"Bye, Jesse! Have fun!" Chloe chirps.

"Knock 'em dead!" he calls back, grinning as they pile into the van.

"Love you," he adds as Beca leans out the window and looks down at him.

"I love you, too. Try not to get in too much trouble while we're gone."

"Never."

She rolls her eyes fondly and vanishes behind the window as they pull away, his smile lingering long after they're gone.

* * *

Three hours later, he's sitting on the back porch of the Trebles' house with a bowl of popcorn and his laptop.

With a click, his screen comes to life, relief washing over him as the broadcast comes through loud and clear.

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to tonight's edition of  _Let's Talkacapella._ "


	9. he was the top man at his craft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! I hope you enjoy. M-rated material ahead; still very new at it, so be gentle. Let me know what you think, and thank you so very much for being so awesome and supportive.

 "I think they sound good, but honestly, John, my senses are overwhelmed."

"This does not seem like the Bellas of old."

Jesse can't agree more.

They're easy on the eyes and their harmonies are still flawless, but there's a raw edge to the performance that seems almost syncopated, hard to get underneath. It's good, and it would definitely kick ass at a riff-off, but the dissonance resonates throughout the performance as the Bellas throw themselves into increasingly dramatic stunts.

It's the Kennedy Center all over again, except he isn't tapping his foot along and bargaining how long it'll take before it becomes a hit on the radio. He's staring at the Bellas wondering what game they're playing at and how it's supposed to help them beat Das Sound Machine.

It's the first time he worries that maybe they've lost their edge and can't regain it.

"And here come the props," one of the commentators sighs as the performance swells to a crescendo. It's loud even over the speaker of his laptop; he wonders how chaotic it must be in person. He can't even begrudge the commentators as they lay into the theatrics, mentally imploring them to pull it off.

_C'mon, Bec._

Amid the pandemonium, the moment of impact goes unnoticed.

One moment they're singing and dancing and the next Fat Amy shrieks, "SHE'S ON FIRE."

_Oh my god._

He can see Chloe gaping and Jessica shaking her head hard in dismay as Cynthia Rose flails at her head,  _aflame,_ as the rest of the girls dissolve into panic.

"I can't breathe, girl, I can't breathe!" Cynthia Rose squawks, trapped underneath Fat Amy's bulk as Ashley flails helplessly at her side.

Jesse locates Beca standing off to one side, her body frozen, shell-shocked, before she drags a hand over her forehead before she hurries forward with a loud, " _Amy._ "

"Even these common people can see that this is not how a cappella is done," Gail quips, off-screen, as the drama onstage steals focus.

Beca is barking orders at the girls and Jesse can't help but be impressed at how instantly order falls into place, Chloe disappearing off-stage as the remaining girls help Cynthia Rose to her feet, Ashley and Jessica tucking arms under her shoulders and ushering her off-stage. Beca's focus seems almost entirely on Fat Amy as they trade heated remarks and stalk off stage together.

"The Bellas have their work cut out for them if they want to win World's," John surmises grimly.

And for once, Jesse couldn't agree more.

* * *

"What happened up there?"

He keeps his voice soft, non-threatening, as she storms into his room and sighs, throwing her bag down on his unmade bed. "Jesse, not now."

Deciding to approach from a different angle, he asks, "How's Cynthia Rose?"

"She's fine, she just singed her hair. I really don't want to talk about this." She throws her shirt on the ground, strutting around in nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a bra. Breathtakingly unconcerned, she snags a towel off the hook on the door and announces, "Don't need the bathroom for at least an hour."

The door clicks shut behind her and that's that.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, he sets down his well-worn copy of  _The Hobbit_ and taps on the bathroom door.

"You fall asleep?"

She sighs audibly and he smiles to himself, resting his cheek on the door and asking in his best pleading-puppy manner, "Can I come in?"

"If you must."

Grinning, he opens the door and sashays into the room, shutting and locking the door behind himself. "So what's your deal?" he asks, taking her in from her sprawled position in the tub, her head resting on a towel as one hand drums thoughtfully along the side of it. "You guys killed it at the sing off. What happened up there?"

He sits cross-legged on the rug beside the tub and waits for her response, running his fingers up her arm lightly when she doesn't answer.

"I don't want to talk about it," she snaps, retracting her arm.

"World's is right around the corner. This isn't like you, Bec."

Sighing, she opens her eyes and glares at him. "We haven't had a good performance this year and our competition is basically unstoppable. We can't win it."

"Not with that attitude," he tells her, yelping when she pinches his arm. "Hey!"

"Can you just like – not?"

She sounds so tired that he finally drops the nonchalance and settles for rubbing her arm slowly instead, letting a long time pass in silence as the crickets chirp just outside the tiny window.

At last, eyes closed, she says, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Jesse."

"Beca."

Her lips twitch and he knows she wants to smile, even as she attempts to keep up the moody ambivalence.

"Chloe wants us to go on a retreat," she tells him at last, climbing to her feet and stepping out of the tub as he scoots over so she can walk across the rug and snag her towel.

"Could be fun," he muses, trying to picture Beca in a woodsy environment. He gets as far as a flannel shirt and a pick ax before he has to dismiss the daydream before he actually laughs out loud.

"If you think mosquitoes and cold showers are  _fun,_ then it's definitely up your alley," she says dryly, wrapping her towel around her waist and grabbing a second one to dry off her hair. "I don't see why we can't add more rehearsals to our schedule and prepare  _that_ way. Or just throw in the towel now and concede gracefully."

Jesse hums and leans against the tub, reaching over to drain it as he adds, "Don't you already rehearse like seven days a week?"

"Mmhmm."

Standing, he drapes his arms around her towel-clad waist and tells her, "Maybe a break will be good for you. It might help you clear your head."

She sashays out of the room and he follows, star-fishing across the bed and waiting patiently for her to join him. It takes a while – she's always choosier about her nighttime routine when she's stressed – but eventually she flops down on the space beside him, her hair still warm and unfairly soft to the touch as it fans across his shoulder, her pajamas loose and only barely brushing her skin.

He turns his head so he can look at her, eyes closed as she breathes slowly up at the ceiling, and leans forward to press a kiss against her cheek, long and lingering. Pushing up onto his side so he's more comfortable, he traces  _I love yous_ against her skin until she's sighing with him, her breathing steady and even as he brackets her body with his and kisses her.

He doesn't rush it, pressing gentle, butterfly kisses against her cheeks, her jaw, her closed eyelids, her forehead, lingering at her neck as she tightens her grasp in his shirt, raking her nails lightly down his spine. It's easy to get caught up in her rhythm, slow and heady, hips grinding against his until he has to undo his jeans or he might pass out, shimmying out of them awkwardly with a handful of grunts and choice words as she snickers and rakes a hand through his mussed hair.

Her snickers escalate into open laughter when he pushes her shirt up and kisses along her ribcage, skimming his fingers along her sides until she squirms away from it, relaxing when he leans up to kiss her properly.

On another night, he'd mercilessly exploit her relaxation and launch a tickle fight that would have her breathless on the floor as he squawked and tried to avoid her tickling hands, giggling into her shirt as she tried to push him off, gasping his name over and over and over until he kisses her quiet and pins her hands above her head.

He's not interested in breaking the pleasant lethargy between them now, though, so he kisses her until it doesn't seem to matter if they ever stop, until his weight is comfortable and heavy on top of her, noticeable but not smothering.

When he grinds against her, it's merely an extension of their nonverbal push-pull, her body brushing against him in all the right ways. He can't form words and his hips are needier than his hands, still clasped lazily at her waist as he presses increasingly more desperate kisses against her throat, settling for a low corner of her shoulder and sucking a bruise into it as he dips a hand beneath her shorts and rubs one off, fast and light.

She's shivering underneath him as he pushes her shirt up, need curling low in his belly as she grinds against him, already building up to a second round. Her hands slide down and encourage him up until he finally shimmies out of his briefs, tugging her panties off before letting her drag him into a hard kiss, skin on skin.

He makes it last, forces himself to surrender to the feeling without giving into the wave of ecstasy as he pushes into her, a low, long moan resonating in his chest.

She's so relaxed that he doesn't need to think or worry or pause, listening to her body instead as he rocks slowly against her.

His arousal surges back to the forefront of his mind as she picks up on the increasing urgency of his movements and matches them, meeting his thrusts until he's letting out sharp little pants with each one, unable to keep himself back as he fucks into her.

There's a tiny voice that intercedes just as the pace reaches a fever pitch and with an almighty groan he pulls out, scarcely touching his dick before he comes on her belly, shuddering hard as he lets more of his weight lean on her, just this side of too much.

She doesn't push him off, though, and groans when he reaches up into her, rubbing her off at the same time as she pants open-mouthed against his mouth, his arousal a low fire in his gut as he stokes hers. He has no control left and lets instinct guide his movements as she groans, higher and higher until at last she shakes apart underneath him, clenching around his fingers as he eases her through it.

They're sticky and sweaty and not altogether inclined to move, but he rouses himself enough to slide onto her side and grab his discarded shirt, wiping her belly off and grinning when she wrinkles her nose at him. He kisses it before capturing her mouth instead, her soft, slow moans like music, sweet and unchecked.

When they break apart her mouth presses against his shoulder and she exhales deeply, contentment in every languorous breath as he strokes her side with his cleaner hand.

He doesn't lecture her about World's, doesn't need to know if she's nervous or scared or intimidated at all by their competition, doesn't ask her when she's going to move in with him officially.

They've got time, and as he kisses her and falls asleep with a leg slotted between hers, he thinks that it doesn't matter if they win World's.

He has her and she has him, and everything else sneaks irrelevantly in between, somewhere between the susurration of the sheets and the soft beat of cricket wings far, far away.

His hand stroking down her side is the last thing he knows before sleep claims him, happy and tired and real.

She's still, at heart, the Bella he knows and loves.

* * *

In the morning, she's singing  _Titanium_ in the shower.

He knows that she doesn't know he's awake yet, so he's grinning stupidly to himself as he lies sprawled across the covers and listens.

He's still kind of sticky and gross and tempted to join her but mostly so, so in love with his gorgeous nerd.

* * *

At breakfast, once they're both dressed and cleaned and she's sashaying around in his clothes, she tells him that maybe the retreat will be good for the Bellas.

He grins and devours toast and resists the urge to say  _I told you so_ while she cooks eggs and he pretends not to notice how she keeps staring at his lips whenever she steals a glance at him. At last he hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her in for a kiss.

"I love you."

He doesn't know what it is about her that draws him in, except maybe simply her everything, but he thinks that the way she smiles when she means it is definitely in his top ten.

Swinging him lightly by the hips, she echoes easily, "I love you, too."

They've got a rhythm going that can't be interrupted, a steadiness that doesn't shake apart when a German team drops by to destroy their reputation, and Jesse's grateful that nothing can take that away from them.


	10. you're gonna miss me (when i'm gone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! As soon as Gail announced that it was possibly* (pending PITCH PERFECT 3 announcements, h'oh my goodness) the last performance of the Bellas at the World's, I wanted to talk about the Treblemakers' last hurrah. Enjoy! Thank you again for all of your lovely comments.

Benji said it best.  Performing live gives Jesse such a rush.

He can't become desensitized to the thrill of hearing the audience just in front of the curtain. The hush that sweeps over the stage as the lights dim sinks into his very bones, making him feel buzzed and alive and free. He's hardly aware of the stage or anyone else on it, only conscious of the microphone and the crowd waiting to hear them sing.

It's a heady feeling, one that he wallows in for as long as he can backstage. John and Gail regale the crowd with stories about their time as a cappella champions while various groups compete for the title of  _national a cappella champion_ , unaware that for one group, their reappearance at the Center is bittersweet.

He's – ready to leave, in a way. He's already working a part-time job, he's finished all but his last few courses to earn his degree, and all of his older friends are gone, pursuing master's degrees and internships in higher places. It's only the Trebles that hold him back to Barden University.

And now this is it. Their last hurrah.

Even as groups come and go he can't take his eyes off center stage. He can still see the faded spaces across the floor where countless performers have left their marks in the throes of countless performances. Even from a distance, he knows exactly where he'll stand and can see himself walking towards that mark before pausing and looking out into the unseen crowd.

Victory feels secondary to him, a means to perform on stage again but not the exclusively worthwhile end. What arrested Bumper's attention – and, indeed, motivated an increasingly playful but still ongoing rivalry between the Bellas and Trebles – has little impact on his desire tonight. Their spirits have all been running high for days, but calm sweeps over him in these, the final moments before the showdown.

They're going to win, and his lips twitch in a small smile as he tucks his hands in his pockets and enjoys the show.

* * *

They're not the Bellas, but they are the Trebles, and if there's one thing the Trebles always do it's give a damn good show _._

The crowd is actually  _chanting_ "Trebles, Trebles!" as they finally move onto stage and Jesse might never feel this alive again, his fingers dangling the mic loosely at his side, his feet gliding across the stage as he steps into the spotlight.

The roar tapers off and darkness falls on the rest of the stage, his feet placed solidly on either side of him as he holds the mic high, heart pounding but emotions so high he barely notices it.

Looking out at the crowd, he can't make out any faces. It's impossible to make out any of the hidden conversations. He doesn't know people from the other teams like he used to. They're all strangers to him. Instead of bringing him bitterness it brings him peace, a full circle finality sweeping over him as he holds up the mic and waits.

And then he sings.

* * *

When they win, it almost feels like cheating, it's so easy.

There's a moment before the surge hits them and they rush to claim their trophy and hug each other and cheer when Jesse stretches a closed fist high above his head in a slow, languorous punch.

 _Sincerely yours_ , he thinks, that single heart-stopping second forever imbedded in his memory as the crowd surges to its feet and the host announces the winners of the 2015 ICCA championship—

"The Barden University  _Treblemakers!_ "

* * *

One day, when he realizes that he'll never stand on a stage and belt his heart out to the delight of an a cappella crowd and judges ever again, he'll mourn the end of his career.

For now, Jesse lives in the moment, embracing his friends, his fellow a cappella people, his Trebles.

Time passes in a blur with each hour shortened and each minute elongated until conversations seem to span the course of days. He loses track of how many people he meets, how many hands he shakes, how many  _autographs_ he signs at the behest of many an admiring fan. It's oddly comforting to be approached by freshmen and feel the span of years between them.

They're practically peers, but they're not, and it's then that he knows that he's ready.

He's not at all ready to leave, to let go of the camaraderie, to surrender leadership to a new generation of Treblemakers. It doesn't even seem possible that soon his blazer won't really be his anymore and he can't fathom not having a key to the house. The thought of saying goodbye to his friends seem unbearable.

Strangely enough, though, he's also – ready. He wants to take his chance at life after college, life on his own, life as a full-time adult.

Part of him will always love and long for the a cappella world, but he knows at his core that it's time to move on.  It's time to give up the mantle and chase new dreams.  He's always believed in happy endings, and this is just the beginning.

As he walks off the stage for the last time, he doesn't look back.

And the rush of being on stage lingers on, long after the cheers of the crowd are gone.

* * *

It's 3:09 AM, and he shouldn't, but he totally does.

" _Hey_ ," Beca breathes on the first ring, her voice husky and sleep-heavy, the breathing of nine other girls almost drowning her out entirely. Keeping her voice low, she asks, " _Did you win?_ "

He wipes a hand down his face, unable to suppress a grin as he thinks about showing off their trophy, their first ICCA win in three years, to the Bellas when they get home. "Yeah," he says, a grin sneaking into his voice as he adds, "yeah, we did."

" _I'd tell the other girls,_ " Beca whispers quickly, " _but they literally just went to sleep fifteen minutes ago._ "

"It's cool," Jesse assures her, because it is. It doesn't matter who else knows. In a way it doesn't matter if  _anyone_ knows. Every heart beat seems to echo the same sentiment, an unceasing, unparalleled joy coursing through him as he stares at the ceiling and traces imaginary lines, soft, obscure worlds of being. "Really, I should let you get some sleep."

" _Tell me how it went,_ " Beca insists, so he does, relaying in a hushed voice all the little details that made the trip, from their first flat tire – " _First?_ " – to the final handshakes and hugs before departure.

" _I know I'm not supposed to do this to your ego,_ " she whispers, " _but I'm so proud of you._ "

He can feel the warmth all the way down to his toes as he echoes lightly, "Thanks, Bec."

The words are scarcely out of his mouth before there's a tiny grunt and then: " _Hey, Jesse._ "

"Hey, Chloe," he greets, sleepy and amicable. "How's the retreat?"

" _It's really great, actually,_ " Chloe says, descending into a lengthy ramble about how they're already working on team-building exercises and how there is no wi-fi or hot showers – Beca must be in  _heaven_ – and there are bear traps everywhere and –

"I'm sorry?"

" _Don't worry, they're just for bears._ "

"Is that – safe?"

" _Totally. Also Beca wants to say goodnight._ "

He grins and tells her, "'Night, Chloe." Then, once the tenor of the breathing changes, he adds softly: "You know, for someone who has like, six tattoos, you're totally a softie."

" _I'm hanging up on you._ "

He smiles, waiting, and at last says into the easy silence, "I love you."

A beat passes before she says softly, " _I love you, too. And I hate to admit it, but Chloe's right._ "

"Play nice," he tells her. "Sleep tight."

" _I'll try. Night, babe._ "

"Night, Beca."

She hangs up and he follows suit, letting her sleep-heavy voice replay in his mind, a fair more soothing timbre than anything the stage can supply.

He was someone before her, and he'd certainly be someone after, but he's glad that he doesn't have to think about an  _after_ with her _._

The mere thought of trying to erase Beca from his life makes his stomach turn. He can't imagine coming home to a place where she isn't intrinsically welcome. As hard as it is to picture himself being an outside at the Trebles' house, it's stranger still to think of her not having a key to his place. He doesn't like to ponder the possibilities of dating other people because for him there's only her.

As he kicks back and relaxes with the Trebles in their shared hotel room, he thinks,  _Are you ready to commit like that?_

To that, he has no answer.

But it doesn't trouble him; it barely even crosses his mind. All they need to do to be happy is take things one day at a time.


	11. never gonna get it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Thank you so much for your feedback. Enjoy some shenanigans in the form of death-defying trust exercises!

It's after dark and Jesse's exhausted from a day of exploring the city's highlights, but Benji's laughing and there are  _definitely_ Bella voices coming from his laptop, piquing Jesse's interest as he saunters out onto the balcony.

As soon as he recognizes a campground background, he grins. "Dude, I want in on this," he says, feigning affront as he sits on the chair beside Benji, smacking his knee in mock reproach. "Beca refuses to send me any pics."

"Oh, no worries; Emily sent me vlogs."

"Oh my god," Jesse says, grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Making himself comfortable, he leans closer to watch the full-screen video on the laptop.

Benji scrolls back to the beginning and hits play.

"Hey, guys. We miss you! We're hiking out to our first  _team-building_ exercise this morning."

"It is five AM, how are you this cheerful," Beca grumbles, stalking past the screen as Emily keeps recording their hike in, camera held at arm's length and trained on her face. Benji seems utterly enraptured, letting out unconscious little laughs at everything she says. Jesse listens with interest to Emily's commentary about the campgrounds, grinning at the barked, "COME ON, LADIES, LET'S GO."

"So, um, yeah, that's Aubrey. She's really nice! When she isn't yelling," Emily adds. "Except Chloe says you probably already know who she is."

"Hey, Benji," Chloe interjects, on cue, blowing a playful kiss over Emily's shoulder. "We're toughening up your girl for you!"

Contrary to acting alarmed, Emily looks delighted at being included. "So, yeah," she says again, grinning, "we're having a really good time and I'll let you know when we're actually at the obstacle course. Okay, bye!"

Benji clicks another video.

At once, they're on the ground looking upward as the girls struggle to hoist Cynthia Rose onto a log about eight feet off the ground, Aubrey barking orders at their backs.

It's no small task, even with seven people, and there's a collective exhale when she's finally able to swing around and sit up, their relief short-lived when Aubrey tells them that they  _all_ have to get on the log.

There's a quick consultation on the ground as the remaining girls talk strategy, Cynthia Rose offering to hop down and help when Chloe and Stacie quickly dissuade her. At last, they settle on Fat Amy, Emily setting her camera down near a tree and letting them watch the fiasco as the remaining seven girls attempt to haul her onto the branch, Cynthia Rose tugging on her arms from above.

It takes eight minutes, six falls, and a spectacular amount of concerted effort, but at last they succeed as Fat Amy sits up on the log and exhales loudly.

"All right, bitches," she calls down, "who's next? Legacy?"

Emily hops into position, shrieking when they lift her and letting out a laugh as they easily propel her onto the branch.

"Oh my god, you guys," she says, scooting over to make room for the next person, holding the log tightly underneath her to keep her balance as the other girls look onward, thinking.

After a long moment the girls below attempt to push Stacie onto the branch, Fat Amy and Cynthia Rose doing their best to assist from above. Jessica and Ashley are more challenging, eventually using Chloe and Flo like a step ladder while Beca spots them. They repeat the effort with Chloe and Lilly for Flo, the girls above helping to haul her up when she's close enough.

Out of breath but not done yet, they strategize on how to get their last three players off the ground, Jesse resting his chin in his hands as they argue.

The branch above is crowded, now, and there's a fair amount of jockeying for space until at last they have room in the middle for the remaining Bellas, Chloe and Beca chatting animatedly as the other girls try to offer assistance from above. The Bellas are holding onto each other for balance, none of them wanting to take an eight foot spill as Aubrey stands off to the sidelines refereeing, waiting for the game to continue.

"This is so much fun," Emily chirps, sandwiched between Stacie and Cynthia Rose as Beca and Chloe argue below.

Just when it seems like they're stumped, Chloe asks, "Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely not."

There's a beat and then Beca's chanting, "Put me down, put me down, Chloe I swear to god," when she lifts her, Ashley and Jessica reaching down to grab either of her arms under the shoulder and lifting. Moving with them, Chloe pushes Beca up until she can swing her leg around the log.

At last, it's just Chloe and Lilly, eyeing the log in equal bemusement until Lilly crouches and, taking the cue, Chloe climbs on her back and stands, carefully hauling herself up with the rest of the girls.

"Isn't this fun?" she asks Beca, still steaming, as they're squished against each other, running a hand up her thigh just to make her scowl. When Beca wiggles too far to the left and almost she clings to Chloe's knees tightly, Flo squeezing her legs around Beca to keep her upright.

And then, without any fanfare, Lilly leaps up, grabs the log, swings around, and wins the game.

Getting down is another challenge entirely, Jesse braying with laughter by the time they're all back on solid ground, bruised and covered in dirt but otherwise none the worse for wear.

The vlogs include a break for lunch where Stacie shows off her guns and Flo does a hand stand for the camera, another log exercise that involves a three foot pit and absolutely nothing to grab but each other as they attempt to traverse to the opposite sides without touching the ground, and an interlude where Aubrey makes them practice scales.

"Your girlfriend's awesome," Jesse comments with a grin, enjoying the opportunity to vicariously live alongside the Bellas' camping experience.

Benji turns bright red and almost drops his laptop, stammering out quickly, "Oh, no, no, she's not my – that's not – we're not together."

Jesse hums in acquiescence, clapping Benji on the shoulder as he stands and saying, "Give me two minutes."

He returns with eighteen seconds to spare boasting two beers, flopping onto the chair and passing one can to Benji as he presses play on the next video.

"Hey, Benji," Emily greets brightly off-screen, taking a walk around the perimeter of the lake. "Aubrey gave us a two hour break and I thought it'd be nice to show you around. Also Beca threatened to castrate anyone who wakes her before the two hour break is over so I thought maybe this would be safer.

"I'm really nervous about World's," she admits, and Jesse almost feels like he's prying, closing his eyes and listening to her speak, pretending that he's walking alongside her as leaves crunch underfoot. "I'm also really nervous about what comes after World's. It seems so weird to think you guys are all graduating in two weeks."

Jesse opens his eyes as the reality of that statement sinks in, struggling to fathom how so much time passed in such a short period. It feels like he just  _started_ his first semester; how his senior year can be drawing to a close already baffles him. Still, he feels a warm sort of contentment settling in his belly, knowing that he won't be alone when he graduates, and he won't be left behind.

Unlike Emily, who gives voice to her concerns with a nervous laugh. "I know how fleeting this all is, but I still want to make it last. The Bellas are  _amazing._ Being one is so much better than I ever thought it could be. It's weird to think that it's just – over after this. I guess it's hard actually  _living_ the best year of your life because you know it'll never be this good again."

For the first – but not the last – time, Jesse wants to hug her, hard.

"But, you know," she says, brightening as she stops along the trail and pans the camera slowly, "this is amazing. And I want to enjoy that. I know that not everyone is happy here, but I think deep down they're all really glad that we get to spend this time together.

"Or maybe I'm out of my mind and they're actually plotting to kill Aubrey in her sleep. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

She pauses for six long seconds over the lake before tuning out, Benji wordlessly scrolling to the next video and clicking it.

It's brief, but Jesse grins at the sight. Inside the tent, there's Beca, snoring softly into Chloe's shirt while Chloe sleeps peacefully on her back, one hand buried in Beca's hair. He's rarely seen them both so at ease with each other, but he's grateful for the insight, relieved to know that in spite of the increasingly exasperated comments from Beca about Chloe's behavior, the bond between them hasn't been broken.

Or, at the very least, hasn't affected them so deeply that it can invade their sleep.

Emily lets them watch for a few moments, maybe appeasing Jesse, maybe simply enjoying the sight of their fearless leaders clocked out, before quietly backing out of the tent as Beca lets out a tiny sigh in her sleep and curls up closer to her best friend.

He's starting to feel sleepy and pleasantly buzzed himself when the video finally ends, Benji returning to the main file only to find that it's the last video on file.

"Guess we'll have to wait till tomorrow," he announces.

"Guess so," Jesse agrees breezily, wondering what adventures it'll hold. "Night, Benji," he adds, standing and squeezing his shoulder on his way out.

Before he shuts the door, he texts Beca a picture of their view, the skyline lit by stars, Benji's back silhouetted against the chair as he nurses a beer and stargazes.

When Beca responds, it's a short video of the lake and the girls seated around it, laughing and chatting among themselves as they share two boxes of pizza.

 _I love you, awesome nerd,_ she tells him.

 _Love you, too,_ he writes back, feeling settled to his soul as he lays down and closes his eyes.

* * *

There's another vlog in the morning when Jesse wakes up, nibbling the remains of a bagel as he watches it with Benji.

"Good morning, Benji! Another day at camp. Today we're doing  _death-defying trust exercises,_ or at least that's what Aubrey tells us. Also, we're suiting up!" She turns the camera so they can see her in swim suit and vest, beaming. "I don't know what Aubrey's planning, but it sounds like fun. Anyway, I'll talk to you soon! Bye!"

* * *

Vlogs are few and far between on Sunday with only one introductory vlog after their morning hike revealing a giant water slide and a chain of floatation mats out into the lake. Jesse would kill to watch the events live, grinning as he imagines their faces, especially when Emily sends them a vlog mid-afternoon to show them a zipline.

Emily, bless her, records the whole thing, Beca laughing the entire way down while Chloe screams in delight, the remaining girls falling on a spectrum of terror and pure joy as they're flung outward across the lake. It's only when Emily has her chance that she wraps up the filming and takes hold of the handle, leaving them both to speculate once more.

* * *

They don't hear from Emily again until ten PM, when she sends them two vlogs that they sit down to watch with a bowl of popcorn between them, movie-style.

The screen comes to life and the first thing he sees is a mud pit, an actual mud pit, and Jesse's laughing before they even hop into it at the disbelief on all of their faces.

Needless to say, the mud pit meets and exceeds all of his delighted expectations, especially when Aubrey pulls out a hose and showers them down as they soon as they reach the other side. One of the attendants films – he turns the camera and waves at one point, evidently enjoying his handiwork – so Jesse can watch every slippery second in the luxurious comfort of his hotel bed.

Fifteen minutes later, the Bellas high-five in front of their mystery cameraman, soaked and covered in muddy but happy.

In the second vlog the scene switches dramatically. It's pitch black and there's a lot of noise. Amid all the confusion, it takes Jesse a while to realize that Fat Amy is trapped in a tree. Or, more accurately, netted in a bear trap, dangling from a tree.

Unseen, Cynthia Rose says, "Damn, that tree is strong."

Jesse tries to keep his laughter to a minimum so he can hear what they're saying, but when Fat Amy comes crashing down with an almighty war cry, he loses it.

"Everyone's okay!" Emily adds for their benefit while Fat Amy groans and Beca lets out a long sigh of relief at her side.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Benji muses, listening to the unseen clamor on screen.

"Totally," Jesse agrees.

Pending World Championship or not, if this is the result, he may have to arrange for more camping trips in the future.

* * *

In the morning, there's one last vlog waiting for them.

"Hey, Benji! We miss you! Can't wait to see you again. I hope you guys have a safe flight; text me when you get home! Also – check this out." She skips a stone across the lake, eliciting an immediate "pfff" off-screen before Fat Amy launches one halfway across the water, Stacie whistling appreciatively. In the background, Beca and Chloe are dismantling the tent and making sure everyone's belongings are in the right bags, Emily helpfully panning to them so he can watch them sort things out. They seem – more relaxed, and he can feel the confidence radiating from everyone as a result, balance restored.

Even Emily seems more enthusiastic as she signs off with a last, "World's, here we come!"

Sitting in a crowded airport waiting for a delayed flight home, Jesse can't help but smile, grateful to be included in their world.


	12. i've invested too much (time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Apologies for the delay; I hope you enjoy this next installment! Coming up next: some Bellas' focus and specifically, World's! In the meantime: graduation is coming. Jesse doesn't know what to do about it.

 

They're sitting on the quad together, her between his legs and his back to a tree, passing time with her music.

_I belong with you_

_You belong with me_

_You're my sweetheart._

Jesse knows that Beca doesn't pick up on the words as much as the beat, a slow count that almost keeps time with his heartbeat, but he still nuzzles her hair and holds her a little closer in response. She isn't working on her playlist for World's and he isn't asking about it, letting the time pass in peaceful mindlessness as they sit under their tree on the quad, locked in a lassitude of not-studying.

There are definitely at least two exams he should be studying for, an essay that needs to be written, and plans for life after college that require finalization. He almost emails administration to ask about his fall class registration time when reality hits him. Unexpectedly nostalgic, he scans the notices lining one of the freshman dorms regarding upcoming changes to dorm life policy with a shadow of a smile. Flyers advertising events scheduled for the fall gut him, like invitations to a party he knows he can't attend. He doesn't even approach a cappella territory, not wanting to know when auditions are, when the first parties will be held, or who will take over the lease at the Treblemakers' house once he turns in the keys.

The end is coming and he's not ready for it.

In a moment of weakness, Jesse looks up his transcript and wonders if it's possible to flunk enough courses to stay another year. For a solid eight minutes he weighs the merits of failing just so he can come back again in the fall and not have to face graduation.

Then he shuts down his laptop and goes for a run that makes his heart pound and his chest ache, eager to shake off the self-destructive energy.

"You okay?" Beca asks, running her fingers along his arm and pulling him back from his reverie.

"Totally," he agrees, kissing her temple. Without missing a beat, he adds, "Let's go out tonight."

She sounds genuinely apologetic when she says, "I can't." Then, qualifying her rejection, she adds, "I'm helping Emily with a collaboration."

"You're collaborating with her?"

"We have some ideas."

"Huh." He's intrigued – knowing Beca it'll be good, even if he has no read on Emily except for the disastrous sing off – but he doesn't push for details. It's useless to pry before Beca is ready to share. "That's fine," he adds belatedly. "Awesome. Is there a day that would work better for you?"

"I work until Friday and then Chloe wants to drag me out to get a mani-pedi. Because that's like a thing. But Saturday might work."

"Okay." He feels the tension ease from her shoulders and cradles her loosely against his chest. "Saturday would be perfect."

* * *

It's not perfect.

Jesse is late because "Okay, one trick," turns into a forty minute ordeal when the snake escapes ("Benji, this isn't a good joke;" "I don't actually know what happened to her but the High Notes aren't going to be happy if I lost Bananaconda") and Beca is later because "C'mon, Bec, I'm your best friend, just try it" ended in a small explosion and—

"Wait, what?"

"It's fine; Chloe's taking care of it," Beca tells him, sounding deeply harassed as she smacks the Bellas' door shut and reaches up to grab his shirt and kiss him. "Why are you late?"

"Long story," he adds, feeling a pleasant surge of heat to his face at their immediate proximity, her breath washing over his lips. "Should I be later? Do I get more kisses if I'm late?"

"You're such a weirdo," she says, pulling him close and promptly making his point.

It's almost going well, then, with his arm tucked around her waist as they walk in idle conversation along the sidewalk, reaching the main road and wandering along the shops. They find a hole-in-the-wall and Jesse greets the bartender – an older friend of his – with a bear hug and a grin, refusing before graciously accepting free drinks foisted on them.

They're halfway to being drunk, playing a game of beer pong with a pair of upperclassmen, when Stacie bursts onto the premises.

She's so drunk she falls into Beca and will not let go, for any reason, until Beca convinces her that she'll take her home if she loosens the death grip she has around her neck.

Which is how, instead of spending their preciously scarce time together in a more fun environment, they end up escorting Stacie home while she grinds on Beca and sings  _I Kissed a Girl_ , collapsing in a drunken heap on Beca's bed and laughing to herself.

It's late, but Jesse's patient, and the night is still salvageable.

So he takes her to an airport.

She trusts him enough that she doesn't even ask where they're going when he pulls into the lot just outside the runway. When he pulls out a blanket and hops into the back of his own pickup, she follows suit.

Watching planes sweep off in the distance takes his breath away, the sense of timelessness seeping into his bones as alcohol steeps in his veins. There's a bottle between them and the atmosphere is old movies and romance and stolen kisses, increasingly heated as the gaps between them vanish.

He doesn't know how long they're there but it must be hours, the buzz settling in his body until the truck is soft enough to caress her. He takes his time with her, in no hurry, and she lets him, only snorting softly when he manages to doze off against her shoulder for the briefest heartbeat before rousing himself with a groan. All thoughts of eradicating the fine layer of clothing between them evaporates as he watches another plane soar off into oblivion, enraptured by the sight.

"If you were on one of those planes," she asks him, "where would you go?"

Without hesitation, he replies, "With you."

Then, when she curls closer in his arms and dozes, he adds softly into her hair, "Anywhere."

* * *

It's not a proposition he takes lightly, but he doesn't put a deadline on it.

 _It'll happen,_ he thinks, driving home alone on a different night,  _when and if it's meant to happen._

It's diplomatic in the abstract and difficult in person. He can pack up his things, he can resign himself to the imminent reality of being thrust into a world without schedules or student unions, he can even say goodbye to the Treblemakers and still be the same Jesse – but he can't be the same person without her.

He doesn't know what she did to him – what destiny she inevitably altered – but he knows that it's irreversible, and he'd be worse off without her.

So he smiles when she steals his laundry, smiles when she ambles around his place blasting her music, smiles when she refuses to declutter his room with her things because even if he doesn't know what the future brings, he's happy to live in the present with her.

* * *

The trophy is striking, but watching Beca examine it with an undeniable glint of pride in her gaze is even more satisfying.

Jesse doesn't know it at the time, but it's the last time he looks at the Trebles' trophy case  _as_ a Treble; if it strikes a bittersweet chord in him it's quickly overcome by the joy of knowing that they've done exactly what they were meant to.

 _Veni, vidi, vici_ , he thinks, following her out the door without a backwards glance.

* * *

It hits him, hard, when he realizes that moving out is not only inevitable but  _imminent._

When more of his possessions are boxed up than sprawled across the room, he has to fight to keep his emotions under control. Eating in the dining hall for the first time in years only weakens his fragile hold until he's laughing weakly into a beer that night trying not to collapse under the sheer weight of terror and uncertainty looming ahead of him. Beca is radiant at the year-end party, totally unconcerned, and even though he sees the fracture lines of stress, he misses their meaning, interprets only the flawless exterior as unflappability.

Maybe they play a careful lying game to placate themselves more than each other, he thinks, draining his glass down.

* * *

It's fast.

After the party has dragged on long enough to be polite he excuses himself and finds her and then he pushes her against the door and kisses her, working her jeans off her hips before they break apart. He's panting into her shoulder as she shoves a thigh between his legs, working her own shirt off and then his, scarcely breaking contact between their bodies as they move.

They're on the floor because there's not enough space left on the bed and  _rug burn_ crosses his mind, but he's got her thighs up around his hips and her teeth against his skin and sinking into her is the easiest thing he's ever done.

"You're so –  _fuck,_ you're amazing," he tells her, thrusting steadily, keeping the heat between them as he works himself into a frenzy.

"You're not bad yourself," she casts back, slightly breathlessly but sedated behind half-closed eyelids, her entire body at ease and in control as she watches him.

"I love how you make me feel," he says with a low groan, struggling to piece words together when his hips stutter forward. "I love – ah,  _aha,_ nnnh – I love you."

She pulls him down and kisses him, his groan rumbling between them.

When her own arousal fails to match his, the closeness is enough, her hips slotted against his perfectly, rocking slightly to encourage him. He likes being on the same page, but it's still satisfying when he comes, toe-curling, mind-numbing pleasure surging through him as he leans on top of her and tries to make it last.

It doesn't, but when the aftermath is as sweet as it is, it doesn't matter.

* * *

There are rug burns.

There are hangovers.

There are tender spots on his heart that don't want to heal, restless fears in his consciousness that won't be subdued, and moments when he's absolutely certain failure is inevitable.

But there's also:

"Hey, can I show you this set list I'm working on?"

And when he puts on the headphones and presses play, he understands that victory is a longshot and Das Sound Machine won't succumb easily, no matter how good the Bellas are –

But it's worth a damn shot.

* * *

Which is why, at last, he packs away his DVD collection. He writes the essay. He finishes his exams.

And when the dust settles he's not the same Jesse as he was four years ago, but he is someone who he likes, and that's good enough for now.

He'll get better. He'll become the Jesse Swanson of his younger self's dreams.

And until then.

Until then, he thinks, grinning as he turns to a suitcase set aside for Copenhagen, he'll make every second count.


	13. this time maybe i'll be bulletproof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy this next installment. Thank you so much for your reviews! I truly appreciate each and every one of them.
> 
> Up next: Copenhagen!

 

Like many colleges, Barden University holds freshmen orientation in the middle of summer several weeks before the first fall session begins. The purpose is to allow incoming students to dip their feet into college life before committing full-time to it. In the spirit of the event, the air around campus is festive, invitational, and congratulatory. It's an induction ceremony for the class of 2015; it gives them an opportunity to meet each other before they ever sit in a classroom with them; and it shows them what life would be like without parental influence guiding every decision they made.

From that day onward Jesse was hooked.

He didn't think life at Barden could get much better, packing his things three weeks in advance and itching to escape the nest as early as possible. He loved his parents, he really did, but he ached for the freedom to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Not to mention the fact that his last girlfriend moved to Kentucky and his remaining prospects were drying up fast. Jaime was pretty and affable but already had a six-foot-six hulk on her arm; Heather was nice but lacked charm; and Brittany showed interest but ultimately failed to engage him beyond the first conversation.

Even in the abstract, college girls excited him. High school was kind to him: good genes afforded him a comfortable seat near the top tier of social life and he had a friendly disposition and an easygoing ability to listen to long conversations. But he longed for new opportunities. College girls opened a new realm of dating altogether.

Then he met Beca.

Carly Rae Jepson's hit  _I Really Like You_ doesn't appear until the end of his senior year, but it's the grin he wears when he first sets sight on her, belting out  _Living On a Prayer_ as she stares in dazed amusement at the display.

Addison is nice and Katie has some badass tattoos, but it's the girl with the scary ear spike that occupies his thoughts at dinner that night. He scans the dining hall in avid hopefulness for any sign of her, not letting his disappointment show when she fails to turn up. He's having a good time, enjoying himself with a group of other freshmen whose names he won't remember in a month, but his subconscious won't let her go.

So he explores campus and gets overwhelmed and runs off his nerves in the gym, but mostly he engages new people, trying to find his core group of friends. When he bumps into Benji at the activities' fair looking like a lost puppy, he sweeps him into a conversation as they walk along, examining the different booths.

And then he meets the Treblemakers.

They're not what he expects national a cappella champions to be like. They can sing a lot higher than he thought possible and they aren't perfectly coordinated, but they also seem to be having a great time and it is, after all – "Organized nerd singing. This is great."

Jesse doesn't think twice about auditioning for the Treblemakers; his only reservation is investing any part of himself in the group  _before_ he knows that he'll get in.

(He totally knows. But he keeps the certainty unspoken, not wanting to ruin his chances.)

What he doesn't expect is for the scary ear spike girl to show up at the radio station.

His desire to get to know morphs into a slow burn obsession. He tries to curb his interest, radiating outward into other groups of friends, but dating other girls lacks appeal.

Jason Derulo's  _Want You to Want Me_ also hits the web near the tail end of his senior year, but it's the cocky swagger to his walk as he approaches the station every morning, already mentally juggling  _too forward_ and  _not forward enough_.

Beca isn't his sun and moon and stars, nor is she the end of all other things for him, but she occupies his thoughts day and night. No matter where he goes or what he does, he finds himself inadvertently thinking about her. Within two weeks, he knows that he's too invested emotionally to step back.

They'll either flourish or fade away, a  _has been_ or  _never was._

She doesn't overtly show any remarkable interest in him. The heated interludes of a hand reaching for a sheet under his before catching its mistake or a delicately arched eyebrow are almost like flirting, coming from her. Her gaze is arresting, reminding him daily why he's so fascinated by her; when she looks at him, she listens closely. She's almost always distant, but there's an intensity to her work that awes him; whatever task she attempts, she completes, usually within the same day of being assigned it.

Luke loves her. Jesse isn't jealous.

Or, at least, he isn't overtly jealous. This would work except he hasn't mastered the art of subtlety quite as well as she has because he can see the tiny smiles she gives him, amusement plain in her features. She likes the attention and he hasn't pegged her as one to lead him on, but he knows that she  _isn't_ leading him on, and it's frustrating and amazing all in one.

She's utterly oblivious to how other people see her, ignores how other people flirt with her, and seems entirely focused on escaping college as soon as she can.

She is, in short, his exact opposite.

He loves college, loves going out for drinks or partying, loves being part of a successful and well-liked group.

She loves music.

And when she sings, it takes his breath away.

He doesn't get to hear her sing often. Once when she's too drunk to walk herself home, she sings Carrie Underwood's greatest hits against his back while he carries her home. He catches her singing  _Bulletproof_ in a corner as she stacks CDs, lost in the rhythm of her work. Her cover of  _Landslide_ at karaoke night still gives him chills, and her rendition of  _Mine_ sneaks onto his iPod after he catches her singing it at work.

She's captivating and utterly disinterested in him. Jesse's patient, so he doesn't push her, scarcely sways with the force of her indifference when she refuses to acknowledge him.

But the softer cues are encouraging. She joins him at the bar for drinks and they talk for four hours about nothing, basking in each other's company. One night she falls asleep against his shoulder during movie night and he scarcely dares to breathe for fear of upsetting her at all. She lets him court her with juice pouches and  _Rocky._ She turns towards him when he speaks and leans closer when he draws nearer.

She echoes his interest, and for a time he thinks that their relationship is inevitable. When he sings  _It Feels Like the First Time_ at the riff off she blows him a kiss and it's another reason to smile that night. Then she rushes up to him and promptly annihilates him with  _No Diggity,_ her voice filling the empty pool until he's so impressed he might actually pass out.

When the Trebles win, it's wrong, a technicality, and he's tempted to hand the trophy to the Bellas anyway, but Aubrey is already shepherding them away and he can't talk to Beca in the mix.

So he bides his time, waits until competitions, and then he brings the house down. He doesn't expect her to be impressed with him – she's scarcely impressed by anyone, openly – but he is gratified when she watches the entire performance without once looking away.

It's going well, and he thinks that maybe in the midst of her post-competition euphoria Beca might surprise him.

To be fair, she surprises him.

She punches like she means it and he's momentarily concerned for her wellbeing and then significantly more concerned for her as a whole when the window shatters.

He calls her dad and he's a nice guy, quiet but friendly. When he tells him the news Beca's dad goes silent before telling Jesse that he'll be there soon.

She's not just angry, she's furious. The playfulness evaporates between them, his justifications turning to dust as she skirts past him and endures her dad's condemnation with an aghast "Dad" that makes his heart ache.

He wants to hold her and take her home and improve her night, somehow, because it wasn't her fault, at all, and she shouldn't have been put in handcuffs in the first place, but she's not his girlfriend.

And it sinks home to him.

He wouldn't be happy in her shoes either, and he kicks himself over it, trying to repair their damaged – friendship, relationship,  _whatever this is_ – to no avail.

Things get worse before they get better.

In his darker moments, he thinks about how wasteful it was to spend an entire year pining after a girl who has never once openly reciprocated his advances. He thinks about the Heathers and Jaimes and Addisons, the never-was and could-have-been relationships in his life.

They pale next to Beca and their  _whatever-this-was._

Which is why his heart is still invested in her when she gets on stage at Nationals.

When she sings, it's not about the competition. It's about them and their year, their tumultuous, bittersweet, amazing year, and he hears that, and he forgives her, and he grins because it's no longer just about him.

It's about them.

And it's a beautiful thing.

* * *

Graduation is a lot like freshmen orientation.

The parking lots overflow. Campus guides are there to help everyone find what they need. Buses run around the clock. And Barden gear is everywhere, displayed loud and proud across the chests and backs of countless soon-to-be graduates.

The parties run late, the after-parties later, and there's so much beer on campus that no one checks for IDs after eleven. They blast music, take pictures by the historic well, and grill countless hot dogs before the main event. There's a ubiquitous friendliness in the air, blankets shared and tables squeezed together to accommodate the crowds. Elbow-to-elbow on the streets, they proceed unhurriedly from one destination to the next, patiently waiting for hours at a time outside the more popular restaurants.

They buy alumni gear on their parents' dime and hot fudge sundaes on their own. They hug friends they haven't seen in years and shake the hands of more affable professors for the last time. They strut around campus not like they own it but like it owns them, friendly after years falling in love with it. They sign fliers and t-shirts, share drinks in crowded courtyards, and split dessert at their favorite steakhouse.

That night, surrounded by thousands of other graduates, he hugs his parents and updates his Facebook status to "Class of 2015!" He catches up with old friends, slides the final box into their U-Haul, and accepts his diploma.

Amid the chaos, she cuts a path to him and lets him introduce her to his family, his  _entire_ family, because there is no meeting the Swanson clan in small doses. She doesn't balk at the sheer number of gregarious relatives he has, only smiles and throws punches (metaphorical, although the literal inspiration brings hoots of laughter from his older cousins) as much as she receives them. She's  _comfortable,_ letting one of the four-year-olds rest on her hip because kids aren't a thing in her future and maybe they never will be but she's always good with them, a hidden sixth sense rising to the occasion as she supports Sasha and answers Aaron's inquiries about the Bellas easily.

He sees the captain in her as she rounds them up for dinner that night, sees the friend in her as she hugs Chloe tightly amid an emotional post-grad moment, sees the performer in her as she tells stories and laughs at punchlines and effortlessly holds her own in any conversation. She steals his cheese fries and sits in his lap when they're stuffed into a crowded corner of the restaurant, utterly unaffected by the position.

It's nice, having someone to hold, someone to talk to, someone to bounce upcoming projects off of. He doesn't feel as lost in the world around her, feels like his achievements amount to greater things whenever she talks about them, and feels secure and trusted and supported every time she listens to him. It's hard not to love her and he can't imagine life without her.

It isn't until he has a moment to stare at his diploma and take in the weight of it that he realizes just how priceless freshman year was in shaping the rest of his time at Barden University.

College would have been great without Beca.

But it was so much better with her.


	14. feeling like having a good time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Since you've been so patient, and since I want to get to the fun stuff as soon as possible tomorrow, I bring you another chapter! It's the transition from graduation to Copenhagen. Featuring sugar gliders.
> 
> Also thank you so much for your reviews. My name's euro, this is we got the world, and I sincerely hope you enjoy.

 "Hey, can you hold these?" is the story of how Jesse adopted sugar gliders.

There are three sugar gliders, all of them sitting in his palms staring up at him like he is their Maker, their wide, unimaginably sweet eyes fixed upon him as they sit in blank bewilderment. He freezes, like all small, defenseless animals do in the midst of ferocious carnivores, and doesn't move again until Emily finishes wrestling a suitcase down the stairs and puffs, "Wow, Chloe doesn't pack light."

"Emily."

"Hey, Jesse, I didn't – aww," she coos, reaching out to pet one on the head with a fingertip, like it isn't a  _wild animal._  "I thought Chloe was kidding," she says, her face lit up in a smile.

Just then, Chloe zips out of the kitchen, wearing a long red flannel shirt and a pair of booty shorts, grinning as she says, "Oh, hey, perfect, follow me."

He stares at the sugar gliders, momentarily transfixed, before gingerly walking across the floor, Emily tailing him. They emerge in the stuffed laundry room and Chloe pulls out a small tank, indicating for him to place them in the next of partially shredded pillows. "I was babysitting them for Riley, she was out of town for the weekend," she explains, waiting until he sets them down on the bedding before latching the ventilated lid on top. "Aren't they cute?"

"There are sugar gliders." He pauses, letting that statement sink in before adding, "In your house. Like this is a thing."

"Beca stayed up and watched them all night so tread lightly around her," Chloe cautions, smacking him on the ass in passing. "Go get her, tiger!"

* * *

The first thing he says upon entering her room is, "There are sugar gliders."

"Jesus Christ, you need to knock," Beca says, looking vaguely like death as she tries to stuff her remaining clothes into a move-out box. "When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago. When did you get sugar gliders?"

"They aren't mine, they're—"

"Riley's, yeah," he says, cottoning on as he scratches the back of his neck. "Do you need help?"

"No, I enjoy pitting my own strength against the –  _elements,_ " she grunts, snapping the box shut. "Could you hand me the duct tape?"

He hands it to her and helps her carry boxes downstairs, strategically sliding her a cup of coffee between loads. She mellows out by her second cup, appearing more Beca than – as Das Sound Machine lovingly put it –  _troll_ by the time they're in the kitchen checking their flight times and tickets.

"Okay, so we check in at five, we fly at six thirty, we arrive at . . . six forty five, which is like, one o'clock in the afternoon local time," Chloe reads off. "Got all your bags checked?"

"Yup."

"Awes."

"Yeah, awes," Beca echoes, calling out, "Fat Amy, you ready?"

"Just about!"

"Rest of you, the bus is leaving  _with or without_ you in half an hour. Let's get this thing moving, bitches."

In the subsequent final check commotion, Jesse is assigned sugar glider duty, holding the clear plastic container with the three critters all wedged inside a hollow coconut, watching Beca pass to and fro as she helps them get the bus ready.

He carries the container out to Riley's car when she arrives, yawning and smiling in equal parts. They shake hands and he listens to her as she laughs and tells him all about her sugar gliders, expression awed and mildly terrified at the thought of such tiny animals taking over his place.

It isn't until Beca sticks her head out of the bus door and says, "Bus is leaving," that he shakes her hand again and darts off with a last smile, Chloe hugging her briefly before saying her own goodbyes.

As soon as they're on the bus, Chloe runs through her final checklist, making them painstakingly reiterate that they have  _everything_ they need. She also runs back to check that no one left the stove or oven on and then locks the front door, snapping the bus door shut primly behind her as she announces, "All right, ladies. Let's do this!"

* * *

Check in is almost as fun as waking everyone up at four in the morning to meet their flight.

They have to dig out their passports, take off their shoes, and scan their bags. For one person, it's a process; for twelve, it's an ordeal. Luckily, Chloe and Beca keep them moving, directing them to remove anything metal  _before_ they get to the front of the line, helping haul loads onto the conveyor belt to ease the process along, and passing cleanly through the scanner on the first attempt.

Within twenty minutes, they're seated on the plane, an economical fit that makes Jesse appreciate his girlfriend's five foot two stature anew, Chloe flanking her opposite side. She waits for everyone to find their seats and store their baggage before reminding them to  _behave_ and popping two sleeping pills.

She clings to consciousness long enough for takeoff, watching the landscape fall away as he stares, utterly transfixed, at the ocean underneath them. He barely notices when she drops off, only feels the gentle weight of her against his shoulder as she sleeps. Scratching a hand lightly at the back of her neck, he curls his arm around her back and enjoys the view, popping his earbuds in and settling in for the long flight ahead.

She sleeps a solid six hours, and he's very impressed and also somewhat jealous as the ocean passes underneath them, uninterrupted. There are only so many unique songs on his iPod, and six hours of unceasing exposure has made him chafe, so he stuffs it in his carryon and pulls out a booklet of crossword puzzles instead, pen scratching in the refreshing quiet of the airplane.

It's midday and he's bored, somewhat cramped, and eager for a restroom break, but none of these seem attainable goals in the immediate present with Beca still dead weight against his shoulder. He's almost solved his third puzzle when she chimes in with a sleepy  _what are you doing?_

In response, he says, "I have to pee."

Chloe's too absorbed in her reading to even notice them, but she does squeeze back into her seat as he shimmies past them, groaning with relief at being able to  _stand._

He encourages her to stand up when he returns, telling her to take a lap and grinning when she returns. "That's what my boss says," she tells him breezily, her voice still thick with sleep as she flops back into her seat. "If you don't have a good idea, don't say anything at all."

"You never told me how that collaboration went," he reminds her, elbowing her lightly. "What'd he think?"

"He thought it was good." Then, stretching: "Really good. He likes my demo."

He blinks, attempting to process the news in one fell swoop. "Bec," he begins and then, excitement seeping into his voice, he adds, " _Beca,_ that's amazing."

"How's Benji holding up?" she wheedles, oblivious to his vicarious excitement.

"Lemme check. Hey, Benj?" Jesse asks, tapping on the seat in front of him lightly. "Benji." It's only after Benji stiffens in his seat instead of responding that Jesse notices Emily clocked out against his shoulder, a grin splitting his lips. He can't resist adding, "Not your girlfriend, huh?"

"Absolutely not," Benji says, so quietly Jesse can almost imagine he makes it up, but there's a definite delighted flush to his cheeks that makes Jesse smile.

They hit turbulence and Chloe's calm descends into panic attack territory as it drags on for several long, painstaking minutes. Beca talks to her for over an hour to help calm her down, rubbing her arm systematically until at last she says, "Switch seats," and Chloe's in the middle.

Jesse might complain because he likes having Beca sleep against his shoulder, likes her warm weight against him, but Chloe and he have always been good friends and it's nice to switch things up. They watch  _Jurassic Park_ on his iPad and Jesse grins when he catches Beca staring avidly at the screen, entranced.

He dozes off around two PM and there are dinosaur sized sugar gliders in his dreams, peering thoughtfully down at him as he ducks under cover, heart racing.

They arrive in Copenhagen at 6:57 PM back home, which is almost one in the  _morning_ local time. The quiet is nice – everyone on the plane seems breathless with relief when they finally touch down and roll to a halt– and the chaos of arriving in a new city, in a new country,  _on a new continent,_ is easier at night. His body is winding down for the evening, darkness transmitting sleepiness straight from the night sky to his brain as he stares in open wonder at the city.

"Welcome to Copenhagen," Chloe says.

He can't take his eyes off it, slipping an arm reflexively around Beca's back when she tucks one around his waist.

"Welcome to Copenhagen," she echoes.

* * *

Chloe handles check in, freeing the girls up to test out the highly polished marble floor with their rolling suitcases. The air is light and heady between them, excitement building as they take in the fact that they're actually  _here._ The past twelve hours don't matter, every second on the plane irrelevant compared to every glorious minute in Copenhagen.

Cynthia Rose has almost perfected the run-and-roll technique when Chloe finishes at the front desk and hands them all their room keys, splitting them into three rooms.

To absolutely no one's surprise, he rooms with Beca, Emily, and Benji. Chloe, Fat Amy, Lilly, and Flo take the second room, while Ashley, Jessica, Stacie, and Cynthia Rose pile into the third. The second the door clicks shut behind them, Beca launches herself at the bed closest to the window, staking her claim as she leaps on top of it.

"How do you have any energy left?" Emily asks, amused exhaustion creeping into her voice as she flops down onto the opposite bed.

Beca falls back mid-leap and grins as she bounces another half foot in the air, eventually crawling onto Emily's mattress and saying, "Lots of practice, Legacy." Then, looking at Benji, she adds, "Coming to sleep with us, Benj?"

Bright red around the ears, Benji sets his suitcase at the foot of Beca's bed, stuttering out a hurried, "Oh, no, no, I don't – do that, that's not –"

"Relax, buddy," Jesse says, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're just here to have fun and spread our a cappella love to everyone."

"You just made it weird," Beca tells him. She groans when he flops down onto the space between them. "You're also so  _big,_ seriously, compress, dude." Planting her heels on his back, she pushes him against Emily, who squawks and offers resistance, finally prompting retaliation as he rolls and pins her. "Definitely  _not_ helping your case," she tells him, eyes closed, breath washing over his lips.

"Totally is," he retorts, raking his hands up her sides.

Benji all but slams the bathroom door shut and Jesse snickers into her collar, nuzzling comfortably there and settling his weight on either side of her.

"Wow, you two are – I'm gonna go check in on Chloe," Emily adds, the blush visible in her voice as she hops off the bed, leaving them alone.

Jesse chuckles and lifts himself up, rolling onto the space beside her and staring at the ceiling, a grin fixed on his face. "Did we really just fly to Europe?"

Nodding slowly, she echoes in an equally amused tone, "Welcome to Copenhagen."

"Gonna rock the World?" he asks her, turning onto his side to look at her.

She hums, turning to smile at him. "You've seen us in action, right?"

And he grins, because if there's a Beca who can beat insurmountable odds, it's this Beca, captain of the Bellas, fearless leader of four years, unblushingly confident but not without reason.

All he says in reply is, "Of course."

And he doesn't know if he ever stacked his cards against them, but he knows that they  _can_  win.

With her curled up in his arms, asleep again, for now it's all he needs.


	15. i got all i need (when i got you and i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! I hope you enjoy. I've spent the past week or so trying to figure out how I wanted to tell this story, and this is the version I liked best. So: enjoy! And thank you again for your lovely feedback.

 

 _As you walk on by_ ," she sings in her richest alto, commanding the entire stage as she swaggers closer to him and asks from the back of the stage, " _will you call my name?_ "

He's trying to hide a smile because he's mad at her. Or, at least, that's what he tells himself until the grin splits his face anyway.

It's Beca. On stage. At Nationals. Singing  _The Breakfast Club_  finale.

It's not possible to be more in love with someone.

(He's also terrible at holding a grudge.)

" _As you walk on by_ ," she sings, jaunting her hips side to side playfully, advancing towards him and smiling between breaths as she husks, " _will you call my name?_ "

Then she belts, " _I said_ la _, la la la la, la la la la, la la la la la la la la la._ "

His fist is in the air before hers, basking in the moment as he laugh-cries.

Honestly, it's better than the movies.

* * *

When she rushes up to him and kisses him, it's officially the best day of his life.

* * *

A younger Jesse was certain he could never outdo that moment.

It wasn't a punishment to experience the highlight of his college career so early. In a way it was liberating. He didn't have to worry about it failing to meet his expectations or deliver on his dreams. It already had.

Then the Bellas qualified for the International A Cappella Championship and everything changed.

The stakes are higher. The competitions are harder. Their opponents are almost unstoppable. Chief among them, DSM puts the Treblemakers to shame and makes the Bellas' unsynchronized performances feel like child's play. They don't belong in the same league. Surely the Bellas should step down and concede gracefully before proving to the entire world how inadequate they are.

As John and Gail enjoy reminding anyone listening to their podcast,  _no American team has ever won._  The Bellas won't be the first; they're a national disgrace, a laughingstock. Their performance at the senior home was, put mildly, a disaster. They'll lose everything – their status as a collegiate a cappella group, their reputation, their chance to perform in any future competitions – if they don't take the gold at World's.

The odds are stacked against them, but Jesse likes his chances.

Beca exudes confidence. She's absolutely breathtaking to watch, and he indulges in a few hours of tagging quietly along, holding her bag when she offers it to him, sipping from her lemonade when she passes it his way, and engaging in the perfunctory handshakes and smiles. He lets her take the lead with introductions. Chiming in with dutiful notes about his time as an a cappella nerd, he keeps the focus on the performances, hoping to impress nothing but sincerity when he says the Bellas are going to bring the house down.

In his heart, he wants it to happen. In his mind, he sees the odds stacked against them. In his gut, he trusts Beca.

Whatever she does, it won't be a disappointment.

And whatever happens, they're here. Even though Emily is still only a sophomore, the remaining Bellas are all graduates. None of them should even  _be_ Bellas anymore, but the competition brings them together. They're not entirely ready to move on; they haven't even moved out of their house yet. The World's Championship is the perfect excuse not only to potentially redeem themselves but also perform as a group on stage one last time.

It's a competition, a vacation, and above all a bonding experience.

Jesse just hopes they can all keep it together long enough to make it through the night.

He's already emotional at the thought of Beca moving out of the Bellas' house. He's enjoyed crashing at her place, seeing Chloe and Stacie and Fat Amy every day, being included in movie nights and "family time." His life is fuller for the mornings he spends sprawled across Beca's bed listening to her sing in the shower. He doesn't like to think of any of it coming to a true end.

Resolving to enjoy the performances and not dwell on things he can't change, he snaps a photo of the incoming crowd and posts it on his Facebook feed with a simple caption. "Welcome to World's!"

* * *

By two PM Copenhagen time, their eight AM bodies crash.

Jesse purchases an oversized blanket from a vendor and spreads it on the grass, using his own sweater as a cushion as he folds his arms under his head and closes his eyes.

He's amazed at how well he sleeps.

At some point, Beca joins him, curling up underneath his arm and snoozing against his chest.

He rubs her shoulders and dreams of oceans and endless summers.

* * *

At some point, the sun sets. Jesse isn't surely exactly when the transition takes place – the two hour power nap alleviates all of the underlying sleep-tension in his shoulders but doesn't reorient his sense of time – but between one blink and the next he's aware of the encroaching twilight.

And still no sign of Benji.

He's starting to worry about him, afraid that maybe he's lost in the city on his own. Jesse's phone is dead and Beca isn't around so he can't ask her to text or call him. If all is going well then the Bellas are in the final stages of preparation for their performance that night; he doesn't dare interrupt them and risk upsetting their pre-competition routine. So he stays alert and hopes Benji will turn up on his own, suppressing his nerves as darkness falls.

Benji knows where the competition is. He'll turn up.

* * *

Meanwhile, older Jesse – the kind of Jesse his freshman self could scarcely have dreamed up – conspires.

He carefully pulls the flag out of his satchel, feeling a rush of pleasure surge through him as the fine fabric courses over his fingers.

No one will understand him. Security might even throw him out.

But the crowd is intense, now, the darkness infinite, and as he drapes the flag over his head and shoulders and advances into the crowd, he feels like Rocky.

Bests were meant to be exceeded.

* * *

Benji shows up just before DSM goes on, looking flustered and happy. "Where have you been?" Jesse asks, mildly awed but also vaguely irked because thank  _God._  He'd never forgive him for missing the Bellas.

"You have no idea, dude," Benji replies, sounding dazed, and Jesse grins and lets it go as the crowd begins to roar.

* * *

DSM's performance is amazing. They're exactly as good as Jesse feared they would be, but it doesn't obliterate his confidence. He watches them and feels a deep sense of peace. The crowd is an animal, alive with the music, but he isn't swayed by them. He listens closely and feels the intensity of the performance, but in his heart he doesn't think  _it's over._

 _It's our turn now,_ he thinks, grabbing handfuls of the flag.

When the Bellas step onto the stage, he grins. Even Benji relaxes at his side, and he knows that victory isn't a sure thing, that they can still walk away defeated, but he  _feels_ it in his gut.

They're going to win.

Shouting into the cacophony, "That's my girl!" he thrusts the flag above his head and shouts, " _Becaw!_ "

She doesn't look at him, but he can see the tiny smile on her lips as she settles into position, front and center, and bows her head.

Silence falls, and he can feel the crowd's captivation as the Bellas stand in a perfect line, unmoving.

Then, softly:

_Clap. Clap. Shshsh. Clap. Clap. Shsh._

In his mind, he can hear her singing, sitting on that stage four years ago. " _I've got my ticket for the long way round._ "

_Clap. Clap. Shshsh. Clap. Clap. Shsh._

" _Two bottle of whiskey for the way._ "

_Clapclapclap clapclap clap clap clapclapclapclapclap._

_"And I sure would like some sweet company."_

_Clapclap clap shshsh clapclapclap shsh._

_"And I'm leaving tomorrow."_

_Clapclapclapclap clap clap clap clap shsh._

_"What do you say?"_

He grins and he's so proud of her, their music swelling as both speed and complexity increase, drawing whistles and other whoops of approval from the crowd.

Just before he's lulled into a sense of complacency, staccato claps break up the routine and they launch into the performance.

" _Who run the world? GIRLS. We run this mother._

_"Who run the world? GIRLS. We run this mother."_

He knows they're going to win before they've finished the first verse, but he still laughs just as delightedly as Beca's mix enters the equation and steals the show,  _Where Them Girls At_ blending perfectly with  _Run the World (Girls)_.

It should definitely be on the radio, and he hopes that Luke is listening.

The songs don't just become more dynamic, nor does the choreography reach out an outer limit of excellence: they keep going, blending more and more mashups, pulling repetition and using their clap routine to their advantage as a secondary a cappella instrument.

When Cynthia Rose sings, "It's going down, I'm yelling timber," he's right with the crowd in cheering, even if he knows it's for a different reason. To hear them attack  _Timber_ again months after the biggest flop in their career is only proof that they've overcome it. It doesn't have any power over them anymore.

Tonight is about  _them_  and what they can do.

And what they can do is  _awesome._

Then, in the sort of unexpectedly awesome way he's come to associate with Beca's sound, Fat Amy sings, " _We belong to the night, we belong to the thunder; we belong to the sound of the words we're both falling under._ "

It will never be  _Don't You Forget About Me._

But he hears her in it, and he grins because it may be Fat Amy's song, but it's their  _sound._

This is the Beca he knows and loves.

This is the Beca who's going to win the World's.

And then, just when he thinks that the performance can't get any better, the sound retreats. The flashy lights fade, the hip-popping choreography ceases, and everything gets dark except for one small figure center-stage.

For a moment, his breath catches in his chest because that's  _Beca,_ standing on stage at an international competition, proving to the world what she can do.

And then she sings, and it's everything he hoped for and more.

" _When tomorrow comes_

_I'll be on my own_

_Feeling frightened of_

_The things that I don't know_

_When tomorrow comes_

_When tomorrow comes_

_When tomorrow comes._ "

The other Bellas join in seamlessly, and Jesse's heart is so full he can scarcely keep tears at bay, smiling at the stage as the Bellas sound rises and rises, overcoming the subtle terrors of the song.

_"I got all I need when I got you and I_

_I look around me and see sweet life_

_I'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight._

_Getting me, getting me through the night._ "

It isn't their song in the strictest sense of the phrase, but it's  _their song_ from that moment onward, her eyes scanning the crowd and perhaps somehow, inexplicably, finding his for a heartbeat before sweeping over the thousands of others gathered to hear her sing.

It's a gift, and he treasures it, laughing with joy when the other Bellas –  _generations_ of Bellas, and she's so clever it blows his mind – join in, all other thoughts ceasing to be as Benji nudges him and he raises his arm and sings with the crowd.

Life isn't a predictable game to him, a straightforward shot at a career. It's a beautiful mess, full of surprises and disappointments, pitfalls and successes. It's watching the three time national champions come together to perform at an international competition.

It's Beca Mitchell, his amazing, sweep-him-off-his-feet, blow-his-mind, change-his-world girlfriend.

It's nothing he expects, but everything he needs.

And when at last it's only Emily left, a sole spotlight on her as she sings, " _Getting me through the night,_ " he feels it to his core.

She moves him. She makes him want to be a better person, to be in  _her_ league, because any space Beca occupies is better for it.

And when the crowd chants,  _Bellas, Bellas, Bellas,_ he and Benji join in and there's enough light on and off stage that they're flooded in it and he's jumping up and down and laughing with delight because they  _did it._

She looks at him and there are tears on her face but a broad grin across her cheeks as Emily hugs her on one side and Chloe crushes her opposite side, her face buried in Beca's shoulder as she hugs her tight.

Jesse can't get to the stage fast enough once it's over, pushing through the crowd as politely and efficiently as he can until he's  _there._ He sweeps her into his arms and hugs her until he's crying into her shoulder and then she's laughing because "Oh my god, don't you dare," but she's already sniffing, too, clutching his back.

There'll be victory kisses and victory  _sex_ and victory drinks later.

For now there's Beca and her pounding heartbeat, her it's-so-good-to-be-alive tangibility, her infectious post-performance glow.

He's too hoarse to speak and he has no words, so he hugs her and she squeezes him back, an unspoken approval and acceptance passing through them.

They could have lost and he would have felt the same euphoria.

But they don't, because they're the Bellas.

And they're the best.

* * *

The news will have a lot to say about it.

The Bellas themselves will take days to process their victory, holding the trophy and laughing to themselves at the improbability of receiving it. They're cozier and friendlier and more open, if such a thing is possible, coming together like he's never seen them before. It's almost tragic that they're all graduates – except Emily, who fits right in the mix regardless – but he feels their joy, their peace, their sense of rightness with the world.

They've done exactly what they came to do.

And as he drapes his flag around her shoulders and ushers her through the crowd for the long walk home, victory is scarcely on his mind.

He has Beca at his side and his entire life ahead of him.

Everything is right in his world.


	16. we got the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, friends! What an exhaustive weekend it has been. I've been struggling with shingles, so updates have been fewer and farther between, but at last, I am very happy to present our last hurrah for this lovely fic. I have had a tremendously fun time writing it and can't wait to write even more Jeca stories!
> 
> On that note: Enjoy!

 

Every tearful goodbye and meaningful speech culminates in the night before move out.

In spite of its inherently bittersweet nature, the farewell party is off the  _hook_.

Jesse has a great time. Really. He mingles, he drinks, he dances, he drinks. Once his blood alcohol level reaches a certain tipping point he stays on the dance floor, attracting many an admiring stare as he parties to whatever hits the DJ puts on. Beca's off duty and he hasn't seen her in like, fifty minutes, so he feels his way around, getting sidetracked half a dozen times ("Oh my god, dude, how long has it been?") as he laughs and exchanges promises to meet up over the summer.

"Hey, stranger," she greets, wrapping her arms around his waist and rocking them from side to side. "How's it going?" Then, amused, she adds, "How'd you get trashed already?"

"I am so not trashed," he says, except it comes out as, "Wow, you have amazing shoulders," and he drapes his arms around them and refuses to let go for virtually any incentive because, " _Seriously,_ Beca, you are like, totally physically flawless."

She grins at him and escapes with a quick kiss and a slap to his ass, reminding him to play nice and make good choices before she vanishes back into the crowd.

He misses her for a handful of seconds and considers finding her and asking her why she doesn't want to dance with him when his  _favorite song_ comes on and then he forgets about her entirely as he crows into the night.

At some point he gets an entire pitcher of punch upended over his head and Beca asks why he smells so fruity and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I smell  _delicious,_ " which is evidently code for "I am very, very drunk, please take me home before I make it on YouTube."

So she drags him away from the fun, from the pounding beat and the laughter, exchanging hugs with Bellas as she goes, promising Chloe – twice – to call her when she gets home, kissing him somewhere in between as a sort of general "thank you for being perfect" or something else obviously along those lines.

It's a little blurry after that, his mind helpfully omitting the walk to their house and reentering the scene with  _The Avengers._  "I thought you hated Marvel," his totally sober brain quips, while his completely trashed mouth says, "If I sing the theme song, will you give me a massage?"

"There is no theme song, dumbass," she tells him, scratching a hand through his hair as he hugs her hips tighter – when did they get horizontal? Doesn't matter, he decides, immediately discarding the fact that his shoes are gone and his punch-covered shirt is, too – and hums happily.

They actually watch the whole movie together. Jesse's certainty that he has the most amazing girlfriend ever is redoubled when she lets him talk the entire time, proving how not drunk he is with his Marvel facts, and at some point between Thor falling from the sky and Bruce Banner showing up buck naked in a warehouse, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, there's a pillow under his head, a blanket over the rest of him, and a trash bin next to his head. The little post-it on it reads, "Please don't puke on the floor, we don't have any floor cleaner. Xoxo."

Obligingly, he heaves into the bin and sinks back into a total stupor.

The second time he regains consciousness, there's another sticky note sitting on his chest. "Hey, loser, when you feel up to it, come out back. Xoxo."

He's grateful for the permission to take his time, because even sitting up takes an extraordinary amount of will power before his first cup of coffee. He stretches and groans lavishly, working all of the kinks out of his back. After snagging a quick cup of coffee from a fresh made pot (he'll make a new one, he's not a total dick), he yawns and tugs on a black shirt lying on the back of a kitchen chair, sauntering outside in all his post-party wild-hair glory.

"Morning, Hilary Swank," he greets, reaching up to block most of the sunlight reaching his eyes with a fist. "What'd I miss?"

In response, she hands him an Advil. " _Thank_ you," he says sincerely, gulping it down and massaging his forehead.

She's quiet – unusually so – and he finally opens his eyes enough to look at her face and ask, "Everything okay?"

"Go shower," she tells him instead.

He obliges, scarcely able to think about her at all in the ensuing chaos. Everyone is up and about, finalizing the move out. He's able to find enough of his own clothes tucked away in Beca's drawers to dress himself, gratefully brushing his teeth and hair until he's presentable.

Beca's room is already empty, with only the bare bones of furniture remaining. It looks untouched, brand new, and there's an unexpected heaviness in Jesse's heart at the sight.

Fat Amy's side is reassuringly cluttered, but he knows it'll empty out soon, too. They're all leaving in the next week or so – some sooner than others; Ashley and Jessica have already moved out – but it's nice to still see a familiar presence in the room.

Even so, he's excited for Beca, for the possibilities awaiting them, for the future doors waiting to be opened. He doesn't know where they'll go or what path he'll take next, but he's looking forward to the journey.

It isn't until he's standing on the front porch chatting with her, bantering about driving times and immediate plans for the weekend that he realizes how indispensable she is in his life. Once she would have been a Katie who he would have – regretfully – parted with on mutually beneficial terms at the end of the year. They're off to bigger and better things. They can't hold on to the past when so many future opportunities await them. They'll only be holding each other back. It's better this way.

It's different, with Beca, and the meaning behind her unusual quiet becomes abundantly clear all at once to him.

She hides it well, but he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the nervous disquiet of her stance.

 _I let you into my life,_ her tiny, reserved smile says.  _I don't want to let you go,_ her body replies, leaning against his, head on his shoulder.

He wraps an arm around her waist and wonders how he was ever trusted with so much. She gave herself to him knowing that he could leave her in the end, congenially parting ways until they're nothing to each other, friends from a time they'll scarcely remember in ten years.

So when he lets her go, he's careful about his next words. "So. This is it."

Her lips pinch in a tight smile. "This is it."

"Ready to put music producer on your tax form?" he asks, leaning his folded arms against the column.

"Someday," she agrees breezily. "Right after 'three time national a cappella champion, current world a cappella champion.'"

He grins and tells her, "That might not fit on the blank."

"I can make it work," she says, stepping aside as Stacie lugs a duffel bag out of the house and down the front steps. Turning serious, she looks at the bags stacked along the curb, waiting to be piled into her dad's car, and adds, "I can see why Chloe failed three years. Now that we actually have to leave it's kind of intimidating."

He pulls her into a hug and says simply, "More college won't make you more successful and putting it off won't make it any easier."

"What happened to the nerd who couldn't wait to get me my first drink at an a cappella party?" she asks. "Careful, Swanson, you're starting to sound reformed _._ "

He grins in reply before Chloe catches up to them first, apologetically prying Beca away to help with boxing everything in the kitchen up. Jesse steps in to lend a hand and the work goes by quickly, taxis loaded and final goodbyes exchanged until at last it's time to part ways with Chloe.

He's actually choked up when he hugs her tightly. She's got a watery smile of her own when she tells him to keep Beca out of trouble, and he laughs when Beca assures Chloe that it'll be the other way around.

It isn't until Chloe's gone, the house is in Fat Amy's trustworthy hands, and everyone has finished packing or finalizing their move out plans that Beca hitches her bag over her shoulder and hugs the remaining Bellas – Cynthia Rose, Emily, and Fat Amy – before meeting him on the front porch. They'll move out, too, and only Emily will return. For now, though, the house won't be totally empty.

"One last thing," she adds as the three girls join them. Digging into her pocket, she pulls out the famous pitch pipe, passing it to Emily with a grin. "Take care of it, legacy."

Emily holds it together while Fat Amy claps her hard on the shoulder and tells her, "The Bellas are  _back_."

And even as the Bellas' captain leaves for the last time, Jesse feels a sense of rightness at it all.

It won't be easy, and it won't ever be the same, but there will be another generation of Bellas to kick ass at competitions, and that's all that he needs to be happy.

Sitting in Beca's dad's car next to her, Jesse intertwines their fingers and pretends not to notice when she cries, trying to assure her with every tiny stroke of his thumb over her knuckles that it'll be okay, that  _they'll_ be okay.

 _This isn't over,_ he thinks, tucking his cheek against her hair for the long ride ahead.

* * *

Two weeks later, Jesse is moved into an apartment fifteen minutes from campus and back at the station when Luke steps out of his booth, looking grave.

"Hey, Jesse, a word?"

"Sure, man, what's up?"

Luke looks at him appraisingly for a moment and Jesse almost thinks he's going to be laid off.

Then: "I'm leaving."

Jesse blinks, trying to fathom how Luke, an unbreakable link to his past, can be moving on. Good reflexes alone enable him to catch the set of keys Luke tosses him a moment later.

"Station's yours if you want it," is all he says.

Jesse stares at the keys, wondering what would happen if he tossed them back, a polite refusal already on his tongue.

Instead, he steps inside the dimly-lit booth and sits in the chair.

"It's pretty simple," Luke begins, leaning against the door, "you'll catch on quickly."

Jesse tries – and fails – to suppress a grin. "Fantastic. Teach me."

* * *

Six weeks later, her first demo is released.

It peaks at number four on the radio.

Beca couldn't be happier.

* * *

On the last day of summer, he takes a long hard look at his life choices, his breathtakingly awesome girlfriend, and his quiet lifestyle as a bachelor, and promptly changes everything.

He calls Benji first, which is good for his nerves because Benji assures him repeatedly that he can't mess it up, promising to rescue him if he does somehow crash and burn, and otherwise being the best best friend ever by telling him again and again that  _It's time._

Then he calls Emily for additional support, which is awkward until she guesses what he's trying to explain and then he's in a group Skype chat with half the Bellas, all of whom are urging him to  _just do it._  Fat Amy threatens to call Beca herself until Chloe hastily shuts the mission down, Jesse losing and regaining his nerve over the course of the conversation until he abruptly terminates it when Beca shows up  _early_  for their date.

He isn't ready and he totally stammers out an apology and hastens to make himself more presentable while she makes herself comfortable on his bed and talks with Chloe,  _ha ha._  After quietly having a meltdown in the bathroom, he dresses, agrees with her purple tie choice, and finally follows her back to the car for date night.

They go to an aquarium because they've never been and there's a strange seduction to the place after dark. It's a summer special and they take their time, leisurely noting various oddities in each exhibit, gazing in silent wonder at a shark passing overhead.

At dinner, they have plenty to talk about, and he grins and listens to her talk about her job, prodding for details whenever her train of thought slows. They share a plate of cheesecake and head back to his apartment filled with soporific bliss.

Walking over cool, prickly grass amid a steady stream of cricket chirps, he pauses to kiss her, lingering over the warm, sweet taste of her lips. She melts against him, her fingers sliding back to grasp his shirt. His nerves vanish as he presses delicate, butterfly kisses along her throat, savoring each one.

When at last he pulls away, she stares at him, unfairly, immeasurably beautiful in the dark, and he sinks to one knee.

It slips off his tongue as easily as his own name. "Beca," he says, then, chuckling softly, his own nerves overcoming any fanciful speech, he adds slowly, "will you marry me?"

For a moment he thinks she'll drag it out, lay it on him, playfully refuse. But her voice shakes a little on, " _Jesse,_ " and her next word brings tears to  _his_ eyes as she says simply, "Yes."

* * *

The Bellas are almost more excited about it than she is when they get the news.

Of course, Jesse and Beca laugh and kiss and refuse to talk to anyone for hours before they break it to anyone, savoring the familiar press of skin-on-skin, overcome by the simple joy of being together with no one in between.

He doesn't need her titles or her achievements to love her, and she doesn't need his job or his future plans to love him.

He needs nothing to be happy but the certainty that she'll be with him.

And somehow he knows that she feels the same.

* * *

In the morning, he grins at the ceiling and listens to her sing in the shower.

" _They say you're a freak when we're having fun_

_Say you must be high when we're spreading love_

_But we're just living life and we never stop_

_We got the world._ "

All told, Jesse Swanson really loves his awesome nerd.


End file.
